


Momentum

by Littlegirlgeek



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Multi, Polyamory, Pre-poly cool kids, Self-Harm, Underage Drinking, cool kids, ongoing, poly cool kids, self harm warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-29 21:16:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3910993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littlegirlgeek/pseuds/Littlegirlgeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started with 'the incident', and ever since then, something between the three of them had changed. But it would be fine... wouldn't it? Best friends forever.. right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Incident, part 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to keep going and going, but I got impatient with myself and decided to half the first chapter, so rest assured that the second half will be up sooner rather than later! Reviews are always welcomed! Working title, feel free to drop me ideas if you can think of a better one.  
> And of course, enjoy~

The Pizza mobile rolled up outside the two-story home as the radio rolled over to 1:00pm. It was a bright spring afternoon in Beach City, Jenny's day off in fact, and she had decided spur of the moment that her crew needed to make it a little less peaceful. With a vague plan and a brand new crop top, she strolled out of the house, ignoring the frustrated calls of her father, and set out for Sour Cream's house. She'd pick him up, they'd go get Buck and she and her boys would either find a quiet place to chill or some trouble to stir up. Either way, it would be a day out with her two favorite boys.

Sour Cream and Buck were the vanilla and strawberry of her Neapolitan. The three of them were a force of nature-- they'd been best friends for years, after all, ever since elementary school. Before the cool kids were the cool kids, they were just weirdos with complicated home lives. Frankly, Jenny was just glad they came out on top of the food-chain in the end. Protecting Sour Cream and Buck from bullies got old by the time they hit high school, but now they were the lords of their realm, loose and free and whatever they wanted. Together they had that power.

Best friends had that effect. She smiled to herself as she killed the engine. From the looks of it, no one was home-- Vidalia's car wasn't in the driveway, and she knew Yellowtail was out at sea for at least a couple more weeks. That was easier. Sour Cream's "you're not my real dad" walkout was always a bit of a buzz kill. This way they wouldn't have to build back up to having fun. Now walking up the ramp to the porch, she took a deep breath: pollen, the ocean, hot sand. Today was the nicest, warmest day of spring yet.

So why did she feel so queasy?

As usual, she walked straight in without knocking, closing the door firmly behind her. The windows were open, letting the breeze blow in from outside, so she kept her jacket on. They'd only be here for a few minutes anyway. After a cursory glance around, she suspected Onion was gone, as well.

"Sour Cream?" She called. No answer. Maybe he was still sleeping? The Pizza slipped off her shoes and padded up the stairs, tugging at her skirt as she went to keep it from hitching up around her hips. Fashion had a price, she thought, straightening it once she reached the second floor.  
At the end of the hall to the left was Sour Cream's room, door ajar. She bee-lined straight for it and pushed it open, leaning in from the frame. The bed was messy, but upon further inspection, there was no gangly white boy tangled in the sheets. Sometimes it was hard to tell, since his skin was the same snow white as the thick comforter. With a pout and a huff she turned on her heel and crossed her arms. Maybe he was already out?

"Sour Cream?" she called again. Still no answer. She should have called, she berated herself. Now she could almost consider this breaking and entering. Or rather, she could if she and Buck didn't already practically live here. As she walked back for the stairs, she took out her phone and hit the speed dial, making the call before she even took two steps.

A quiet melody she quickly recognized as Sandstorm played behind her. She stopped mid-step and turned slowly on her heel. The air was too stiff. 

His phone was in his bedroom. He didn't leave home without it. She forced herself to swallow the lump in her throat.

It's okay, calm down. He's here somewhere, she told herself. Her fingers were already tugging at a strand of burnt-straight hair at the base of her neck. The four steps between her and Sour Cream's room turned into two and she was back inside, double checking the thick tangled comforter. As messy as the room was, he wasn't hiding anywhere inside. She ducked her head into the laundry room on her way back down the hall, then Onion's room just across the stairs. She took the stairs a little slower, convincing herself as she returned to the first floor that he had just forgotten it. He was probably already at Buck's. At the very least, she'd check the kitchen before she left.  
She strolled through the living room, forcing herself to walk slower than she'd like, and glided straight into the middle of the kitchen. She took one more steadying breath as she looked around and that's when she smelled it-- a coppery smell, heavy on her tongue that spiked her pulse.

Blood.

Her heart raced and she followed the smell at a jog now. "Sour Cream??" She called again, this time frantic. She bolted across the dining room and stopped, hearing a titter of sound. Her head snapped toward the hum- the bathroom door was closed, but light flooded under it. It took less than a second for her to cross the room and fling the door open.  
The smell of blood hit her like a wall and she faltered. Sour Cream was on the floor in a t-shirt and boxers, bulky headphones over his ears and a razor blade in his left hand. Her eyes widened as they darted up from the deep cuts on his arms- they climbed up both, stopping a just a couple inches short of the crease of his elbow- to his shaking shoulders and finally to his mortified eyes, now locked with hers. The little bathroom tasted like copper and salt, and the boy in the floor was frozen like a deer in headlights. Like something she had come to finish off.

It felt like she was short circuiting. Sour Cream's eyes, wide and terrified and brimming with tears, squeezed her heart in a way that made breathing impossible. She had known- in middle school, he talked about it once, just once, how hard it got and how justified this felt- but she never thought. She thought he had stopped. Had he ever? 

"J-"

The sound was quiet, but startling in the silence between them. Jenny was pulled from her trance and suddenly this lanky coil of instinct and fear turned back into her Sour Cream, her sweet, awkward friend with a heart of gold and a heavy head. His mouth was open, the confusion in his eyes withdrawing instead into panic. His lip quivered, and the word that came out was barely above a whisper.

"Jenny?"

It was like a switch was flipped inside her. Her heart restarted and ran a mile a minute-- she had crossed the floor and dropped to her knees before she even felt herself move. Sour Cream flinched, backed up futilely against the bathtub. She looked back to his face, but he had torn his eyes away, looking down at the razor in his hand. The haze was leaving his eyes. Part of her wanted to cry, to curl up and sob, but that was what children did in the face of hard situations. No, she couldn't be that little girl anymore. No teacher was going to come and stick up for her friend just because she screamed and bawled. It was selfish. And it wouldn't help Sour Cream.

Getting a hold of herself for the moment was easier than she would have thought. She put one hand on his shoulder- it earned her a flinch, but he didn't tear away- and she reached slowly for the bloody razor blade. He let it slip from his fingers as she pulled it away and she reached up to set it on the edge of the sink. It was dizzying, the sight of the blood, knowing it was Sour Cream's. The whole room felt dangerous, with just a hint of heartbroken. Or maybe that part was internal. This wasn't the kind of situation you really got practice at beforehand.

Sour Cream didn't look up, but his mouth drew into a tight line and his eyes screwed up. Jenny peeled off her jacket and folded it in her lap, reached for him, paused. Her hands hovered just above his arms and she forced herself to look at them. The panic was settling in and the sight made her stomach bottom out. They didn't look deep, she told herself, but what did she know? Old scars peaked out from underneath new slits, rosy and swollen and each parallel to the one before it. Organized chaos, a neat disaster. Jenny pursed her lips and forced herself to breathe, clenching her fists once before reaching for the outsides of his arms. He let her guide him so she pulled his arms together and pressed her cotton jacket over the cuts. She glanced up at his face in time to see him wince and her heart choked again, spluttering insider her chest. Losing all usefulness, she surrounded him with her arms and pulled him against her. He leaned into her, still wrapped in a ball with his knees pulled up.

He whispered a few times before she heard what he was actually saying. "I'm sorry," he was muttering, his voice cracked and dry like sandpaper. A bitter laugh bubbled out of her throat and she gripped tighter, pinching her eyes shut to blink away tears.

"Shhh, baby it's okay," she said. She heard her own voice and was startled by the rasp in it. She shook her head, his hair tickling her face as she buried it against him. "I'm here, it's alright. It's okay." A face appeared in her mind and she reached into her pocket. With one arm still wrapped around Sour Cream, she shot a quick text out into the air: "SOS Sour Creams please hurry" before she tossed her phone aside and scooted closer to her shaking friend.

He quaked in her arms, but she could feel him coming down as the quiet sobs began. The noise in his headphones was erratic and harsh- she yanked them off, careful to always keep one arm around him, pressed up against him as close as possible as she freed the mp3 player from him and pushed it across the floor.

His breath came out in ragged wheezes, like he couldn't quite catch it. Jenny's throat caught with every skip and she swallowed down tears again, continuing to shush him as she pulled him tightly into her arms. Her phone buzzed somewhere near the sink. She kept rocking, felt him ease into it, the way his hand curled around the jacket between them and hooked onto her arm. It started out loose, but soon his nails dug in, biting at her skin. It hurt, but she could feel it: he was hanging on for dear life.

Her heart raced and ached and she wondered if this was what a car crash felt like, all adrenaline and panic. Everything about this was wrong and she would have given anything right then to make him okay. Every part of her screamed to hold him closer but she couldn't without hurting him. She wanted to take all the pain away but she didn't know how. She wanted to lean down and kiss him again and again until there was nothing left but love and warmth and safety. 

The realization made her panic, followed by an immediate wave of guilt. Her friend, her best friend, was hurting in a way she had never seen him hurt before. And suddenly she was changing their relationship without his permission in her head, thinking about doing something that might only make him panic more, will complicate the perfect life they have, the three of them, but seeing him hurt just made her want to do anything to take all the pain away.

An irregular tug on her arm and she realized Sour Cream was breathing normally again, the raise of his chest even through her jacket. She helped him sit back upright, pushing him away from her enough to see his face. His eyes were puffy and red, creased around the edges, eyebrows furrowed in fear- though dulled from the level they had been when she first opened the door.

"Please don't hate me," he whispered.

The words stabbed at her like a knife and twisted. Soft dark hands cupped his face and now she was moving on instinct. 

"Oh, S," She cleared her throat when she heard the crack in her words. "S, baby, I could never." She tugged his face down just enough to stretch up and kiss his forehead, a hard insistent press that lasted a couple seconds before she pulled back. She got barely an inch from his skin before she went in for another, this time kissing his left temple. She felt him sniffle, felt the twitch of his brow beside her lips. She pulled back slowly and turned his head in a fluid motion, kissing the opposite temple. Her hands shifted back so her fingers brushed his neck, uncovering his cheek for her to shift down and kiss there next, and she felt hot tears and tasted salt on her lips. Her heart ached and her eyes teared up, but she kept them closed, peppering little kisses across his nose to his other cheek, then down to his jaw. Two more little kisses and suddenly it was different- suddenly the skin was rougher, ridged--

She was kissing his lips.

It was a fraction of a second before she pulled back, but she opened her eyes, looking down her lashes at the spot. His lips were just slightly agape, pale like the rest of him, chapped but with the slightest linger of a spearmint taste.

Jenny took a slow breath in, glancing up and meeting his eyes. The fear was gone, replaced with something tired instead, exhausted and a little hurt like a lonely child, but there was something soft there too. She broke his gaze and tilted her forehead against his, closing her eyes again, never letting her hands leave his face.

"I could never hate you," she said quietly. She dropped one arm to his opposite shoulder and tugged, pulling him to lean against her again and he obliged. This time he pulled an arm out from under the jacket and looped it around her, pulling her close. His form uncoiled slightly, coming loose and relaxing his constricted muscles, letting him sit more comfortably in the floor. He breathed her in, tucking his face in between her neck and shoulder. In return she nuzzled against him, tightening her grip and wrapping her arms fully around him again. They sat in silence and she rocked lightly again, finding a soothing rhythm to fall into.

Both of them were coming down and she could feel it. The smell of blood soured in her nose again and she felt something warm against her back. A chill ran through her when she realized it was Sour Cream's blood seeping out between her skin and his. As much as she wanted to stay like this, wrapped around him like a wall of safety, she knew there was still more to do. 

She patted him twice on the shoulder and he pulled back. His eyes wavered back into panic and she tried to smile reassuringly, glancing down quickly at the jacket between them and back up. He winced and took a breath, unwrapping his arm from around her and leaning back against the tub. Jenny carded her fingers through his hair, keeping one hand on the jacket and making him meet her eyes. What she saw there was that same panic-- "I'm sorry" echoed in her head and swirled around her senses-- and she scratched his head lightly with her nails through his hair. His eyes drifted close and he leaned against the hand, shoulders visibly loosening. He looked so drained. She let out a small sigh, feeling the weight of the afternoon weighing on her suddenly.

"I need to clean your cuts," she said. Her words were firm, despite the shake she felt in her knees. It was a relief to take charge of the situation and hear her own voice, she thought, and the way his head bobbed in agreement told her it helped him, too. He propped himself back against the tub, leaning back slightly but keeping his head down. Jenny took a bracing breath and slowly lifted away the folded jacket.

The sight underneath made her stomach bottom out again. The way Sour Cream looked at the cuts, all red and pink down his upturned arms, was completely hollow. She swallowed thickly, trying to banish the realization that this was nothing new to him, and set the jacket aside, not daring to look at the underside of it. Sour Cream let out a shuddering breath.

"It's. Tingly." he said. Instead of responding, Jenny just nodded.

Suddenly the front door ripped open and slammed shut, startling them both. Sour Cream shrank back and Jenny's hand tightened on his thigh, trying to calm him as someone ran through the kitchen and dining room. It only took them three seconds to reach the bathroom, rounding into the doorway harshly, a flash of red and white. Relief washed over Jenny at the sight of Buck, and her grip on Sour Cream loosened.

Buck panted, wearing only his pajamas under his signature red over-shirt, his sunglasses nowhere to be found. He must have run the whole way, Jenny thought- he lived almost clear across town, he wasn't even dressed. How soon after she texted him had he run out the door?

Sour Cream seemed to tighten at the sight of Buck and the panic returned to his face. Worried he was about to spiral again, Jenny looked to Buck pleadingly. Buck's gaze slipped to Jenny and then back to Sour Cream, still panting as he took everything in. He winced and she knew he could smell the blood, watched his eyes dart down to Sour Cream's arms. His breath slowed and he crossed the floor in two steps.

Sour Cream turned his head down and he squirmed back futilely, unable to meet Buck's eyes. Jenny backed up to give Buck space-- even without his sunglasses he was so hard to read and for a moment she worried about what he might do. What she did see, though, was a quick decision click in his mind as he dropped to the floor at Sour Cream's knees. For a second she reached out, seeing what she thought was anger, but before she could open her mouth, Buck had cupped the pale boy's face in his hands and crashed their lips together.

Shock swept through both Sour Cream and Jenny at the action. Buck's eyes were screwed shut and he was holding Sour Cream's face tight, pressed hard against his own, as if he could share his own life between them. What she expected to feel was jealousy or hurt or worry, but underneath the confusion she identified pride and a swell of love as she watched the exchange, the way Sour Cream's panic loosened and he accepted the kiss, a little dazed and confused but no longer so afraid. Watching Buck melted away her earlier guilt-- it wasn't selfish of her to want to share that with him. And from the outside, she could see Sour Cream understood.

Hell, he might have understood it better than either Jenny or Buck did.

Buck pulled away with an audible smack and Sour Cream's ears burned when Buck's eyes met his own. The mayor's son tilted forward and pressed their foreheads together, keeping his eyes open and holding Sour Cream's gaze. His dark eyes were soft and, Jenny recognized it now, just a little sad. His voice was gentle and warm.

"Dude. What happened?" he said. His hands stayed over Sour Cream's ears and his thumbs rubbed against Sour Cream's temples, unknowingly covering the first three places Jenny had kissed earlier. Sour Cream's face burned from ear to ear now, but his gaze drooped tiredly. He didn't answer, not yet, and closed his eyes. Buck's remained open.

Jenny took the moment to take a steadying breath, pulling herself from her awed stupor over the exchange she'd just witnessed. It was magnificent and mesmerizing, but she shook it off and stood, rocking slightly and catching herself on the sink. She swallowed and looked down at them, Buck knelt over Sour Cream. Her heart pounded and she felt warm, her frenzied panic from earlier dulling to a low buzz. The three of them together always made her feel whole and safe. With a cursory glance around the bathroom, she remembered where she was and where the first aid supplies were. Before she left she took a breath.

"We need to clean him up," she said. The 'we' felt right in her mouth, and she knew calling for Buck had been the right choice. She never doubted it. "You got him?"

"I got him," Buck replied, just as soft as before, never looking up. Feeling safe with the answer, Jenny disappeared out of the bathroom and down the adjacent hall.

When she returned a moment later, Sour Cream and Buck were talking quietly among themselves, Buck asking questions and Sour Cream answering simply, sometimes more, sometimes less. Not every question got an answer so Buck kept it casual, asking if his mom would be home tonight or not, did someone need to pick up Onion later, did he want pizza for lunch or would he rather them make him something. At the mention of pizza, he perked just slightly, his gaze shifting to Jenny as she knelt back down with the first aid kit and a washcloth.

"...Anchovies sound good," he mumbled. Jenny laughed a sudden spluttering laugh and Buck smiled warmly at her.

"All right, man," Buck said, "But only on one of the pizzas. That shit is nasty."

Sour Cream offered a small smile. "Deal."

Normally Jenny would say something snappy about being sent on the lunch run as usual, but she let it slip and instead shook her head, a tired smirk on her lips. A hand came up to the back of her neck and she realized from the warmth and weight that it was Buck's. She glanced sideways at him and met his gaze, piercing and kind and full of something she couldn't quite name yet. She took a breath, uncertain where her's suddenly went, and he squeezed the back of her neck affectionately. He pushed his fingers up into her hair, just slightly, and scratched through it soothingly, as she had done for Sour Cream earlier. 

"Do you need anything else?" Buck asked, nodding toward the pile of first aid stuff Jenny had dumped on the floor. She looked through it quickly and bit the inside of her lip.

"I don't know. I've never..." she glanced at Sour Cream, who kept his eyes closed and was leaning against Buck's other hand, still against the side of his face. Jenny's gaze turned back to Buck. "What do you think?"

Buck looked through everything, pulled his hand away from her neck (much to her uncertain disappointment) and reached for the peroxide. "Wash your hands and start with the wet washcloth. Then we'll use the peroxide before wrapping it up."

He spoke with a certainty that both reassured and unsettled her, but she stood up and turned to the sink. Before she started, she picked up the razor blade cautiously and washed it off in the tap, placing it up in the cabinet. Then she washed her hands and followed Buck's instruction. As she gently padded the washcloth along the cuts, it tinged red and pink streams bled back through the cloth. Sour Cream watched through long white lashes.

"...Do we have to use the peroxide?" He asked quietly. Buck, who was holding his arms gently while Jenny cleaned them, looked up at him.

"Yes," he said firmly. "We have to clean you up."

"But it stings," Sour Cream whined. The sound was a welcome change from the heartache of his earlier tone.

"Would you rather us take you to the emergency room?" Buck countered. Sour Cream stayed silent, but his lip puffed out. Buck nodded triumphantly and returned to his task. "Peroxide it is." It was unlike him to take charge-- that was usually Jenny's job-- but she was so relieved to see this rare side of him.

After they had cleaned cuts and successfully ruined the washcloth, they turned him over the bathtub and poured the peroxide over his arms. He hissed and kicked his feet against the ground and Jenny rubbed his back. From over his shoulder, she could see Buck's lips tighten and something strain in his neck as he poured the concoction over the cuts. They bubbled and hissed along with Sour Cream, who whimpered only once before they were padding him down lightly with the washcloth again. The rest of the cleaning went on in silence- they dabbed at the peroxide to take away the excess, then covered the cuts with sterile cloth and wrapped an arm each with gauze. Buck's was a much cleaner wrap than Jenny's, and she refused to wonder why he was so good at it.

Once they helped him into the dining room, Jenny stepped out to order and pick up the pizza, while Buck set about cleaning the bathtub and floor. There were little skids of blood on the ground and some on the wall, which he wiped away with a fresh washcloth. Sour Cream half watched him work, half stared at the floor.

"... I can do that later," he offered, trying to speak up but finding his own voice awkward in his ears. Buck paused and looked up from the spot he was scrubbing on the side of the bathtub.

"Nah, man," Buck said. "This is no problem."

"But-"

"You really scared us, dude."

The honesty startled Sour Cream and he chewed his lip anxiously, heart thudding against his ribs. He picked at his wraps subconsciously, leaned forward on his knees.  
When he didn't speak, Buck continued on, still scrubbing the stubborn spot on the tub.

"Do you do this often?"

"N-no.."

"Are you lying to me?"

"No!"

Buck looked up and Sour Cream snapped his mouth shut. For the first time since he arrived, Buck looked... hurt. His eyes creased around the edges and his brow ducked over them, a mix of frustration and heartache. Sour Cream felt the wind knocked out of him, and the guilt that washed through him felt like poison. Despite his cool exterior, Buck had been just as terrified as Jenny had.

"I-I've done it before," Sour Cream confessed, looking down to avoid Buck's gaze. He fiddled his fingers together, pulling a little too hard at his joints as he spoke. "but not often. Just... It's only been bad a couple times. Usually it's a few and I'm done, but sometimes I just don't... it doesn't..." He screwed up his face, trying to find the words for what he was feeling. Sometimes it's not enough. That would scare Buck off for sure. Sour Cream felt himself welling up-- he didn't want to lie, but he couldn't lose Buck or Jenny, it would kill him, but he promised he wouldn't lie--

A hand fell over his folded ones and jerked him from his thoughts. Buck was kneeling before him now, looking up at his face. He didn't smile, but he wasn't frowning either. With that same straight face he always had, he brought his other hand up and completely covered Sour Cream's long slender fingers.

"I understand," he said. He never looked away.

And suddenly Sour Cream remembered the kiss, wanted to try it again, to see if he could press how much he appreciated and cared about and loved Buck into a single action, make comfort and gratitude flow through Buck the way it had flooded through Sour Cream only half an hour before. His cheeks flushed and the smaller, warmer hands gripped his own, squeezing once and lightening up, somehow a hug in it's own right. Sour Cream flipped his hands over so Buck's could lay in his palms. The wiry teen looked down at the tops of Buck's hands, tan and pink and rounded unlike his own. 

"You don't have to lie to me," Buck said. Sour Cream met his eyes again, and part of him thought there was something else being said, but he couldn't read it. "If it happens, you know you can call us. Right?"

Sour Cream bit his lip again, the image of Jenny in the doorway burned into his brain. Before he knew she was there, he felt nothing, just empty and tired and needing, but the second he saw her face, saw the look in her eye and the way she reeled back when she opened the door... he felt so ashamed.

Realizing he hadn't answered Buck, he nodded slowly. They sat still for a moment, Sour Cream looking at their hands and Buck looking at Sour Cream, just breathing, no sound except for the sea gulls outside.

Quickly but gently, Buck grabbed the back of Sour Cream's neck and pulled himself up to place a quick peck on Sour Cream's forehead. He pulled back and gave a toothy grin- one he reserved for Sour Cream and Jenny alone. Sour Cream smiled back and offered a hand up, which Buck grasped and held tight.

"You guys are staying, right?" Sour Cream asked, trying to sound more casual than needy. Buck laughed.

"Yeah, dude, do you even have to ask? Of course we are."

Sour Cream grinned, getting some of his momentum back at the thought of them staying over. It had been a while since they'd had any sort of sleepover, and it sounded like just what he needed.


	2. The Incident, pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final part of The Incident arc. With the immediate danger out of the way, an attempt to lighten the evening allows the weight of the day to settle over the three of them.

After a quick conversation about how to spend the rest of the day, the boys moved to the living room and turned on the TV. Sour Cream pulled the coffee table out of the middle of the room and pushed it to the wall alongside the chair while Buck went through the house and gathered all the pillows and loose blankets he could find. They spent the next ten minutes building a nest up against the couch, stacking a layer of pillows and covering it with one blanket and then propping up the lumpier pillows around the edges.

By the time they had a solid fort built against the couch, the front door opened to reveal Jenny with three pizzas and two orders of bread sticks. Kiki trailed behind her with a couple two-liters and Sour Cream blanched at the sight of her. The tallest teen quickly slid under the cover of the blanket fort while Buck went to help the Pizza twins. He took as much of the food as he could carry and moved it to the coffee table, earning a quick glance at his wardrobe from Kiki. With a raised eyebrow, she turned on her sister to question it, but the keys to the Pizza mobile were shoved in her face and she was ushered back out the door with a thanks and a request to be picked up for work the following day.

"I'm gonna put these on ice and get some napkins," Jenny announced as she passed them to the kitchen. Buck watched her go before glancing down at Sour Cream.

"I'll bring us drinks. You want Dr. Bipp or Mr. Peppa?"

"Bipp forever," Sour Cream replied absently. He had preoccupied himself with choosing and queuing up a list of movies for the afternoon. Buck nodded, though he knew Sour Cream didn't see it, and hopped over the coffee table toward the kitchen.

When he rounded the corner, Jenny was fiddling idly with an ice-cube tray, popping little fish-shaped cubes out one at a time and dropping them in a cup. She looked up when Buck appeared and smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. Buck returned the expression and went to the counter for paper towels.

It took him a moment to decide how to approach her. He didn't want to make it worse, but he knew if he didn't ask, she would take it upon herself to carry the weight in silence. He took the whole roll of paper towels and turned. His eyes widened at the sight of her back. Blood had dried on it in streaks, not enough to think it was hiding cuts of her own underneath, but enough to send a pain through his chest. He gasped and he reached out before he could stop himself.

When his fingers hit her back, she gave a start and rounded on him. The look on his face confused her for only a second before it all clicked into place. A shudder stole through her body as the thought swirled in her mind- she was covered in blood, _Sour Cream'_ s blood, it was dried on her back, it had been for almost an hour-

The room started to spin. She turned away from Buck and braced herself on the counter, a sudden headache pulsing against her skull. Try as she might, she just couldn't catch it. Still, she continued to push at it, taking slow shallow drags of air and releasing them softly.

"Jenny?"

Buck's voice was soft and prickled with concern. She didn't turn toward him. Her knuckles blanched as she gripped the counter. All of the sudden she was incredibly tired.

"Can.." She started, but had to stop and draw a new breath. "C-can you get it off? Please?"

Buck didn't need to be asked twice and immediately ripped off a paper towel to wet at the sink. Without wringing it out he returned to Jenny who leaned on the counter with her head in her arms. He placed a dry hand on her shoulder, letting her know he was there before he started scrubbing. She was stock-still as he rolled wet paper towel around her back. Beads of water rolled down to pool at her navel, and she shivered at the sensation, trying to keep a level head as he wiped the blood away.

It was a quick process, nothing like cleaning Sour Cream's cuts. After a few firm sweeps and a spare paper towel, Buck gave her a gentle affirmative pat on the shoulder. Jenny stood upright slowly, reaching a hand back and touching the cool skin at the curve of her back. She swallowed, running her fingers along her spine.

"Thanks," she breathed out in a sigh. Buck was still watching her quietly, staring at the spot on her back with a dip in his brow. "What?"

He cleared his throat thickly before he answered. "There's, um. Some on your shirt."

The kitchen was quiet again while Jenny processed the information. Didn't she have a spare shirt in the... No, she let Kiki take the car back. She could wear it and pretend she didn't know, but somehow that sounded worse. What if Sour Cream saw it? She wasn't sure she could handle him panicking again without sending herself over the edge.

A shuffling sound snapped her back to attention. When she looked up, Buck was holding out his over-shirt to her with an earnest look in his eye. "Wear this." His eyes darted past her toward the living room and back to her face. "It is a bit chilly in here."

"Dudes, we are definitely watching Sharknado!" Sour Cream called from the nest in the living room. Jenny snorted despite herself and Buck smirked, dropping the shirt into her hands as he passed her toward the edge of the kitchen.

"I hear it's a cinematic masterpiece," Buck replied as he returned to the living room with the roll of paper towels. When he rounded the corner, Jenny took a breath and quickly switched out shirts. She didn't dare look at the blood on her shirt and instead folded it and put it on the table-- she'd stick it in her purse soon. Buck's shirt was soft and well-worn, loose on her arms and radiating the heat of it's previous wearer. She couldn't resist bringing the sleeve to her mouth at breathing in the scent-- Buck's clothes always smelled crisp, with just the slightest bite of bergamot and rain. She took a quick breath and pushed her thoughts away before returning to her task in the kitchen.

Even surrounded by the comforting smell, she quickly ran down again, the pain in her stomach drawing her thoughts away from the ice glasses. Try as she might, she couldn't shake off the rock that had formed in her gut.

Something tickled at her wrist before Buck's fingers found with hers. He had returned quietly from the living room to pour drinks and had managed to sneak up on her. She turned to look at him-- his eyes were creased with worry.

"Will you be okay?"

His voice was chill, but the slight lilt at the end called out to her heart and immediately her chest grew tight. She was about to answer 'fine' but her eyes were welling up.

She fought it, blinking rapidly and nodding. The tears just kept coming back. Through them she could see something flicker in his eyes, but she couldn't tell if it was uncertainty or empathy or something else entirely. Immediately she wanted to comfort him, to push down her ridiculous crying and make sure he was okay, but as she opened her mouth to try his hands slid up to her face and cupped the hollow of her cheeks.

"Let yourself feel it," he said softly, brushing at the rogue tears with his thumbs. His hands were always warm but never too much so. It was like a blanket on your bare skin in winter. "You'll make yourself sick trying to fight it."

He pulled her in slowly, moving his hands down to her back, to the spot he cleaned just moments before and giving a gentle tug. She obliged instantly, relieved at the invite, and laid her cheek on his shoulder, her arms pressed between her chest and his. The bergamot smell intensified, mixing with the scent of his hair gel and surrounding her in the safe familiarity of a hug she'd had a hundred times before. Buck was a pro at comfort-- she knew this for a fact. There was a tender, driving place in his heart that wanted to comfort as much as she wanted to protect, and he had never been afraid to squeeze a friend's hand or coax them into a hug. It was one of her favorite (if one of the quieter) things about him.

Still, as comfortable as she was, she couldn't stop the knot in her stomach that scolded her for needing comfort at all. The feel of Buck's cheek as he leaned into her sent a small shock wave through her, radiating down her arms right to her fingertips curled together between them, and it occurred to her suddenly that he hadn't been there from the very beginning.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "Thank you for coming. I was so scared, I have never been so scared and I just totally froze. If you hadn't shown up, I-"

"Hey, whoa," he cut her off, speaking into her hair. She could feel his words as he spoke, each syllable going straight to the knot in her stomach and loosening it. "You did a great job," he assured her with another tug for emphasis.

The little phrase broke what was left of her guilt and she rubbed away the tears on his shoulder, suddenly a little embarrassed by her emotions, but mostly relieved. He had this uncanny knack for making her feel good about herself. Making her feel safe. How did she always know what to do when someone was hurting?

In her head she saw his lips smash against Sour Cream's, shoulders hunched, the way he put his whole body into it. Suddenly everywhere her body was touching his burned in her skin. She could feel his lips against her hair and it made her think of the kiss again and again. It was... magnificent. That was the only word she could really peg it with. Emotions swept through her in rapid succession-- pride for her boys and their kiss, confusion and discomfort for how much she loved it, fear for being separated from them in any way, fear of being left behind. It had been like watching from another dimension, like she hadn't even existed for those few moments when Buck's lips were pressed against Sour Creams, and somehow that hurt. The guilt of selfishness settled back on her- it was completely about Sour Cream, that's how it should have been, he needed them, both of them, and here she was trying to make it about herself instead. She didn't want to do that to either of them.

"Hey," she heard somewhere in the foggy distance from her mind. A nose nuzzled just under her ear, arms tightened slightly around her. "Come back to me."

Four little words, but they made her heart flutter in a way she'd never felt before. It was like a breath caught in her chest, creating a warm space just out of reach. She pulled back to look at his face, just inches from her own, eye to eye. This was new territory, no matter how familiar those arms were. Buck's long lashes fluttered just once as he searched her face. She couldn't stop herself- her eyes darted down, not even for a second, to his lips.

He caught her. His cheeks burned and his arms loosened slightly, pulling back a little. He remembered the kiss- it had never even occurred to him, even after the kiss that she had been right there- what must she have thought of him?

Panicked that she'd done something wrong, Jenny surged forward to stay in his arms. She wasn't sure what to say, how to reassure him-- Oh, what the hell, she thought-- and pressed a quick light kiss on his lips.

They were even softer on her mouth than they'd been in her hair. It was just a peck and she pulled back, calming down despite her heightened pulse. Buck was completely flushed, staring at her with wide fluttering eyes. Somehow that made everything easier and she couldn't help the little laugh that bubbled up in her throat. It wasn't mean-natured at all-- she was just so happy to see Buck being his easily flustered self.

Emboldened by his reaction, she swiveled a little in his loose arms,  throwing him a toothy grin. "What? I wanted one too," she said, pushing him playfully.

Buck faltered and had to catch himself on his heel and her elbows, cheeks still rosy. The change in her tone pulled him out of his shock, though, and soon he gave a little smile. Before he could ruin her fun, she turned on her heel and went grabbed the Mr. Bipp 2-liter. That one little kiss had completely renewed her energy.

Buck slid up beside her and pulled the cups closer so she could pour the drinks. He bumped her shoulder lightly with his own, the corner of his mouth upturned. "You could have asked, y'know."

Jenny laughed so hard she poured Mr. Bipp all over the counter. After a hasty clean up and the rest of the drinks were poured, the two returned to the living room where Sour Cream was already digging into a gooey slice of anchovy pizza. Buck gagged immediately, shuddering and looking away from the mess dramatically. Jenny snorted and leaned down to hand Sour Cream his drink. He took it gratefully and washed down his mouthful of cheesy, fishy pie.

"I declare this crazy train kicked off!" Sour Cream said after a long refreshing drink and he hit play. Jenny stepped across the wiry teen's lap and sat down on his left, while Buck slid down on his right. It was only three, but that just meant they would have time for more movies. As the first movie started (Sour Cream chose Cabin in the Woods to kick off the marathon), Jenny munched absently on a piece of pizza, lost in thought.

Today she had kissed each of her boys. On the mouth. Without their permission. On top of that, neither boy knew she had kissed the other. But both knew, whether or not Sour Cream had thought about it yet, that she was witness to their first kiss. She stifled a grumble by ripping into more pizza, mad at herself for what a complicated headache she'd made. Sure, it had felt right-- with _both_ of them. She couldn't deny to herself that she wanted to do it again when situations were less.. strenuous.

The image of Sour Cream crumpled on the floor, cutting open his own skin... she knew it was going to haunt her for a long time. Beside her she vaguely heard him comment about the exquisite writing of the movie, to which Buck gave a light "Yeah, man." Jenny snorted and dabbed her lips with a paper towel, setting her pizza slice aside in the box she'd taken for herself. She folded her arms over chest stubbornly, stewing in her thoughts.

Meanwhile, Buck was attempting to keep the heat from his cheeks and failing spectacularly. His mind was flipping back and forth rapidly between kissing Sour Cream, kissing Jenny, _kissing Sour Cream_ , _kissing Jenny._ While one was something he'd thought about plenty of times since they'd become friends, the other was a new concept, one that he had considered maybe once before, and for the second time only after he'd already covered the other's mouth with his own. It was mostly the vulnerability that embarrassed him now-- he couldn't have stopped himself if he'd tried. There Sour Cream was, just melted on the floor, eyes puffy, cheeks rosy, just. Hurting. Buck moved before he even knew what he was doing. And then he was. They were. He coughed around the pizza idly resting in his mouth and stretched out to reach his drink on the table.

The soda fizzled down his throat and the sensation was soothing, allowing him a small reprieve from the heat in his face. Kissing Sour Cream was the right thing to do. He knew that. He trusted his body and it had done what it needed to to take care of his friend. He believed in the power behind the gesture, and from the way Sour Cream's shoulders had relaxed in his hands, he knew the message had gotten through.

Quietly he wondered if that was the only message he'd sent.

And then, of course, there was Jenny. She had kissed him. No, backtrack, not even that-- she had _watched him kiss Sour Cream._ He had stormed right in-- hell, he might have pushed her out of the way, he wasn't even sure-- and just. Taken Sour Cream's mouth. Right in front of her. She watched. _She watched._ It took him a second, but after a quick play through in his head, he realized she didn't move an inch while he was kissing Sour Cream. Was she that shocked? Was she disgusted? Her kiss later assured him the latter wasn't the case, and suddenly his cheeks were heating again and his lips tingled with the taste of panic, spearmint and a hint of honey.

Jenny stood and shook him from his thoughts.

"Anyone need another drink?" She asked. She took their cups and retreated back into the kitchen.

When Jenny sat back down, Sour Cream took his drink and thanked her, but couldn't bring himself to make eye contact. Instead he turned back to the movie and vaguely watched while his mind wandered. Today had been... he wasn't really sure. It had definitely started bad. But there were also. Good things about it? A little throb pulsed in his temple. He felt his eye twitch and opted to ignore it, taking another drink before he leaned across Buck's lap to put his drink on the table as well. He set it down a little unsteadily, feeling Buck's breath against his ear. With a shudder, he jerked back and wiggled further down under the blanket, slumping back against the couch. Yeah. Today had been... something else for sure.

His arms ached with a familiar burn, but for some reason it hurt more than usual. Or rather, it hurt in a bad way. The last thing he ever wanted was to hurt his two favorite people, but he felt like he had done just that. When he first heard footsteps in the kitchen, he had frozen on the spot, mortified. It could have been his mom or his step-dad or even Onion-- but when Jenny broke through that door, cold washed through his body like ice under his skin. He didn't cut much-- not like that, at least-- but that was the first time that it hurt in a way that wasn't soothing. The second he saw Jenny, he was washed in ice just before his skin set on fire.

He felt as though he had physically hurt her. And then she was so sweet to him, took such good care of him, she was so good and he didn't deserve it. All the sudden she was kissing him-- the press of her lips against his forehead was familiar, but when she went to his temples it became something new. Sour Cream knew that Buck and Jenny both had experience; how could they not? They were both so stunning and wonderful and his insides squirmed just thinking about it. He never, in a million years, thought he would get to experience that first hand. Let alone from both. Let alone in the same _hour_.

The way her kisses crossed over the bridge of his nose-- his big dumb nose, he couldn't believe she had done it-- went over his cheek then down to his jaw and then. He licked the corner of his lip unconsciously, searching for some linger of her honeydew lip gloss. It was an accident, he knew it was. She pulled back so suddenly, looked down at his lips, and his body had begged for her to come back, to know what it felt like to kiss her for real instead of just that instinctual seeking of his mouth. But she had done it. She had sought him out without thinking, and it made his heart soar, he felt so safe in that moment--

He couldn't breathe when he remembered and he was suddenly sure it was obvious. He zoned back in on the movie long enough to comment: _The monsters are so fucking cool in this movie, great designs,_ to which he received hums of agreement. Relieved at their nonchalance, he let himself feel the ache of his chest for breath as he thought of Buck's kiss again. It was _ridiculous._ The was the only word he could find for it. It felt like some kind of cosmic joke, having someone as beautiful as Jenny or Buck kissing him, especially the Mayor's son, so smooth and chill and suddenly so. Sour Cream swallowed his heart, forcing it back down from his throat as he found the word. Desperate. He didn't even realize Buck liked guys, he'd seen him flirt before but he wasn't sure if it was legit. Of course, realistically, he knew Buck agreed with him that gender was just a construct. But. Sour Cream felt himself deflate slightly. He always just assumed his two beautiful best friends would end up together. They made a perfect picture. It felt right.

He scratched unconsciously at his arms as the credits wrapped up on the first movie and the queue fired straight into Sharknado.

Without realizing it, the trio shared a single thought:

_What the fuck am I doing?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've not been doing a lot of editing as I go with these, so i would love reviews and comments if you were willing to drop them! From here on out, it will follow a vaguely-linear, near free-standing chapter system, similar to one shots. I've already got a few later chapters written, I just gotta get to them!
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	3. A Return to Normalcy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get back to normal for the cool kids. Mostly.

 

 

The day after their movie marathon, Jenny had been gone by the time the other two woke up, and Buck left soon after wearing the extra clothes he kept at Sour Cream's house (his 'emergency stash' also included spare shades, hair gel, a toothbrush, an old wallet with $40 in it and a pack of gum, because living in the moment was great, but preparedness was just smart). It was a quiet day, and for a while Sour Cream worried they might need to take a few days to themselves. His doubts however were smushed soon after dinner when his phone buzzed twice with their plans for the following day. It was a huge relief, and he found himself falling asleep not soon after.

Their plans for the next day were just a structured as usual, which was to say they weren't. Usually when they decided to hang out, that was as far as the plan went- be together. It was a method that worked for them beautifully and allowed them to roll with the punches.

Jenny had work until 5, but it wasn't 5:07 before Sour Cream heard the screeching of tires, a beat and two rapid honks. He quickly realized there was no fixing his bedhead-- there never was-- and hurried to the front door. When his hand reached the knob, his sleeve pulled up just enough to reveal the start of gauze at his wrist.

There was a quick sinking feeling in his gut, and a new kind of nervousness set in. Maybe he should be more worried? There was still a chance they would treat him differently. What if they tip-toed around him all day? He chewed the inside of his lip and tugged his heavy sleeves back down.

It took an extra breath to brace himself. This was something he'd done a million times before.

Of course, this time they knew.

The car outside honked again. With a final breath-- _no way out now_ \-- he twisted the knob and ripped the door open like tearing off a bandaid, and closed it behind him as he disappeared outside.

Jenny was leaned back in the driver's seat belly-laughing at what appeared to be Buck's lower half, which was dangling in the air as though he had dived headfirst into the front seat. Buck was flailing his legs in the air, trying to push himself back up  and coughing. The driver was being of no assistance.

"And _that_ ," she said, between stuttering laughter as she calmed down, "is why you keep your seatbelt on until the car has come to a _complete stop_." With one hand still on the steering wheel, she grabbed the back of his pants and pulled. The boy yelped, but managed to tumble back into the backseat. He readjusted his askew shades, shoulders heaving lightly in a chuckle. Jenny's toothy grin didn't falter for a second as she looked back up at Sour Cream and patted the passenger seat. "C'mon, Wonderbread, daylight's a'wastin'." She thickened up an awful fake accent that had Buck spluttering again.

Relief ran through Sour Cream's veins and he vaulted over the car door instead of opening it, sliding seamlessly into the seat. Jenny sat patiently as always as he bunched up his too-big jacket and buckled up. When he gave her a thumbs up, she readjusted her mirror before hitting the gas and taking off down the street.

As they soared down the street, Sour Cream fiddled with the radio, searching for a decent mix to listen to while Buck carried on about his Dad's daily blunder. Jenny countered with a story from her morning.

"Dad tried to ground me again when I got to work," she said, waving her hand dismissively with a lazy sneer on her face. "He keeps telling me I can't just not come home and I'm like, Dad seriously, I'm 19! I can make my own decisions! Ugh." She digressed, gripping the steering wheel tight and taking the corner a little too hard. Sour Cream sloshed against the passenger door as she continued, "Honestly, he acts like I'm out partying or drinking illegally or something."

"You are sometimes," Buck reminded her, gently prodding her shoulder. She smacked his hand away, earning a snort from the hispanic teen in the back seat.

"Yeah, but it's _still_ none of his business!" She insisted, brushing off the comment. Sour Cream couldn't supress a snort, which earned him a sidelong glare. Somehow that glare made him feel better than anything that'd happened yet, and his heart glowed as she couldn't keep up the act and laughed at herself with them.

They rolled to a stop in front of the beach, which was conspicuously empty for the beginning of the summer season. Jenny left the car running, but Buck stood up and leaned forward on Sour Cream's shoulders, examining the beach over top of him. Sour Cream tried to look up at him, unable to resist the opportunity, but all he did was manage to push all of his hair into his face against Buck's arms.

"What do you guys think? Beach day?" Jenny asked.

Buck 'hmm'd with uncertainty and Sour Cream started to answer her, but a splash on the shore caught his attention. The whole car jolted and they all turned to the source. A giant jellyfish looking creature popped out of the water, as tall as the pier was long, and threw something onto the beach with long luminescent tentacles. Amethyst hit the beach and was on her feet in an instant, letting out a warrior cry as she charged back at it. The teens watched as Garnet and Pearl appeared from further down the beach, running to Amethyst's aid, with Steven in tow behind them flapping his arms in a panic.

Jenny sighed. "Alright, no beach," she shrugged. Sour Cream's lips twitched into a frown as Buck threw himself back into his seat. Sour Cream settled on a station finally-- daft punk was always around when he needed it-- and turned sideways in his seat to look at his companions. They mulled over options silently, only half-attentive to the chaos happening on the beach. Just another day in Beach City, Sour Cream thought. He wondered briefly if other cities had to deal with this kind of stuff on the regular, too.

Buck's seatbelt clicked back into place and he shrugged when the two looked at him. "I dunno. But no Funland. My Dad's doing some kind of. Something there today."

Jenny nodded and crossed her arms. "Yeah, I'm not really in the mood to deal with people today anyway." She plucked absently at her clinging tanktop.

The three of them brainstormed quietly, Sour Cream nodding gently to the music, until an idea popped into his head. He perked up to get their attention. "We could go to the warehouse?"

The two responded to the idea with smiles and instant agreement. Sour Cream couldn't help but grin at his idea. It was a place they'd hung out a few times before, but other kids from around Beach City tended to frequent it in the evenings, so they didn't stick around much unless there was an event happening. But as hot as it was today, and with four hours between them and sunset, it should be relatively empty. Jenny threw them back into gear and took off again.

When they parked under the cliff and wandered into the abandoned warehouse, Sour Cream was relieved to find his idea had paid off-- it was dead silent, with enough sunlight shining in through the vast arched windows and the hole ripped through the back wall to light the whole building. There was the lightest smell, like damp rock, that intermingled with the ocean breeze and blew salt and sediment taste into the decrepit building, but no teen of Beach City would have it any other way. The three of them ended up sitting in the DJ booth, a safezone for Sour Cream who was leaned up along the wall next to Buck. Jenny sat instead against the booth, legs folded together and curled under her. By the time they had all settled in on the little balcony, they were deep in their follow up of the earlier conversation.

"There's this huge pressure on me- from Gunga, too- to be _feminine_ ," The word was spat out like a bad taste in her mouth. "But they don't even mean feminine, they just want me to be quiet and gentle and... and _submissive._ " She exaggerated a shudder at the word, drawing the tug of lazy smiles from the boys. Her lips puckered and she threw out a dramatic hand to stop no one. "Baby don't roll that way. Besides, why do those things automatically read as feminine? It's sickening. Traditional gender roles are so outdated. It's 2015, people!"

Sour Cream smiled to himself, tucking closer into his arms folded on his knees. It was common for Jenny to get on her soap box about gender roles and the state of feminine versus masculine- it was a common theme in her household. Even though he didn't really know much about the topic aside from what Jenny said, he loved hearing what she had to say. It wasn't something he felt able to contribute to, but he loved the way her eyes glowed like fire when she got into the heat of it. Usually he and Buck would nod and agree and just allow her to go on, neither seeming to have much to say on their own parts.

Much to his surprise, Buck responded.

"I dunno, man. That stuff just never like. Hit me." Buck shrugged. Sour Cream found himself paying more attention than he meant to as Buck leaned back with his arms behind his head. "I mean, why can't I wear a skirt if I want to? That's just the man trying to keep me in line."

A slight flutter tickled behind Sour Cream's ribs and Buck looked sideways at him. The pale teen offered a fist and a quiet "Yeah, man," and Buck bumped his knuckles with a subtle grin. Jenny's eyes were lit with a new excitement.

"Your legs are _great_ , though! You would look so good in a leather skirt, simple frame, maybe like an uneven panel..."

As she spoke, Buck pulled a small sketchpad out of his jacket and began scratching with a pencil. Jenny continued her description, gesticulating and blocking out shapes with her hands as she described the perfect skirt, the way it cut off just above his knees on one side and mid thigh on the other, cutting herself off occasionally with new details. The exchange was lighthearted and full of gusto, and Sour Cream felt himself relaxing against Jenny's enthusiasm and Buck's affirming hums. He leaned over to Buck to see his progress and pinked all the way down his neck at the sight of the page.

"Hey man, why am I the model!" He voice cracked in his own ears. Buck didn't even look up.

"Your long legs are ideal for skirt sketching."

"It's inaccurate!"

"It's perfect."

The two bickered needlessly and Jenny laughed, tilting the sketchbook down to admire how the details were coming along. They looked fantastic as usual, and her smile said that they lined up with the picture she had been attempting to paint with words.

When it started getting dark, they returned to Jenny's car, dancing around one another as they walked, their deep topic having died down to talks of shopping and make-up. The day had gone perfectly in Sour Cream's book-- just any other day with his best friends. Despite the occasion memory of lips on his and the accompanying heat in his face, it was a totally normal hang. He couldn't be more comfortable if he tried as they squealed down the road.

The night sky was clear, revealing blues and purples and the slightest bursts of white and pinks in the stars that dotted the sky. Sour Cream took a long breath, head back on the seat, breathing in warm, salty night air and the sound of laughter and the pulse of the radio that he could feel in his muscles. A hand mussed through his hair, accompanied by new laughter that he immediately recognized as Buck's, now leaned forward on the middle console between he and Jenny. Those fingers felt like home and he sighed, enjoying the light scratch of nails against his scalp.

This was what home felt like.

As they pulled up in front of his house, this warm glow had settled over his bones and he suddenly realized how tired he was. It was like all of the weight of the last few days had lifted away and now he was left with that post-workout catharsis he had heard so much about. Somehow he felt relieved and completely drained all at once.

Jenny threw the car in park as he unbuckled his seatbelt. "I would call today a successful laze-about," she said with a nod. Sour Cream chuckled as he climbed out sluggishly. He turned to lean on the door and give Jenny a high five.

"See you tomorrow?" She said expectantly.

Sour Cream smiled and nodded. "Definitely." It was the same as always, and the joy had given him a window into what a well-slept night might feel like. He had worked himself up so much over the possibility of them treating him differently that he had completely fried his nerves. With the prospect of sleep and normalcy on his mind, he clasped hands with Buck who stood in the back seat and pulled him into a one-armed hug.

When he peeled back from the hug he expected to drift back and watch the car roll away. Instead, he found a hand on his neck pulling him in before Buck pressed a firm kiss to his forehead.

It was just an instant, accompanied by a burst of fresh-pine scent swirling in his nose, before Buck pulled away and dropped back into his seat. Buck grinned, just as casual as ever as he released Sour Cream and climbed into the front seat.

"Sleep tight, man," Buck said, soft and quiet as always. Jenny blew an exaggerated kiss and stuck her tongue out, throwing the car back in gear and pulling out to take Buck home.

Sour Cream's pulse felt like a rabbit just beneath his skin. He reached up and touched the spot on his forehead, fingers brushing hot skin as he turned and stumbled up the walk to his house.

... Maybe a little different wouldn't be so bad.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to follow the basic flow of emotions after a semi-traumatic event, so this chapter was kind of light and short. I hope it wasn't too boring! Let me know what you think! Chapter four will be much more exciting, I promise.


	4. Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Incident hits Jenny full force, a few days late. Buck answers the call.

Buck arrived at the Pizza household around 4am. Forty minutes earlier he had been contemplating the meaning of life, lying on his roof while listening to MGMT-- a semi-regular past-time of his during the summer-- when he'd received a text from Jenny. He climbed inside, grabbed his emergency bag and was out the front door in just under five minutes.

'Need you,' it said. A girl as beautiful as Jenny, as fiery as Jenny sending that text just after 3am would send a jolt of excitement straight between most guys' legs. Buck, however, knew better-- When Jenny wanted fun, she was the metaphor type. The text would have said 'Play with me' or 'Come keep me company'. On extra playful days it might have been something more like 'Limited time offer, you have 20 minutes'. (She knew he liked a challenge, and she relished providing one, even if it was just as a joke.)

This text, 'Need you', was something entirely different. It was a cry for help.

Now standing in front of the beach-adjacent townhouse, he took a second to catch his breath. He couldn't be panting while he stealthed in. Not that sneaking in was hard. It was something he'd done a million times before. Familiarity, however, bred laziness, which was something he was cautious to avoid. Kofi hadn't caught him yet, and he wasn't about to get careless now.

The moon was so bright he didn't even need his flashlight app to navigate around the house. He carefully climbed the back porch railing and tossed his bag up onto the roof before pulling himself up after it. He glanced in Nanafua's window-- she was asleep in her comfy chair instead of the bed, as usual-- before he slipped quietly across the shingled roof to the opposite side. Jenny's room, like her sister's, was on the front of the house, so he had to climb over the A-frame roof and carefully slide down the slope. Jenny's window peaked out on the left, jutting out of the otherwise smooth roof. It was already cracked open.

The Mayor's 'above the law' boy leaned around to it and pushed it up slowly. He wasn't about to knock and wait for her to come to the window, not tonight, not without knowing what the distress was. With the window now open enough to slide in, though, he had a vague idea.

Jenny, beautiful, strong, edgy Jenny, was crying in the center of her bed, on top of the covers with her knees pulled up to her chin. Her earrings were discarded on the nightstand and she was already in a thin t-shirt and boy-shorts, so whatever was happening, it had probably woken her up. Buck slipped off his shoes and put them just inside the window sill before he hit the floor in her room, then dropped his bag with the softest thump. It gave Jenny a start and she looked up, glossy eyes barely visible in the darkened room. Buck moved straight to the bed and climbed on carefully. He situated himself in front of her, balanced on wide-stanced knees, and pushed his fingers through her hair.

"What's going on, babe?" he asked softly.The friendly pet name rolled off his tongue just as easily as it always had, but for some reason he felt an unfamiliar spark on his lips. Jenny sniffled, keeping her head buried in her arms, not daring to release her death grip on her own knees.

"I just. I dunno, I just." She struggled for words, but couldn't seem to find them or push them out between gasps of breath.  With a small hiccup, she grit her teeth and looked up at Buck, squinting through hot tears. Her voice was small. "I can still smell his blood."

Buck flinched as though he'd been physically hit. He sat up taller on his knees and leaned forward to encompass her in his arms. Her hands shifted under him to grip at his jacket.

It reappeared in Buck's mind too. Jenny with Sour Cream on the floor, that wall of blood smell that hit him when he entered the door frame, cleaning actual blood off Jenny's back later... It all rushed back and the pain in his chest was very real and he couldn't stop the little hitch in his breath and how it gripped his heart like iron.

A little sob bubbled up from Jenny's throat and the sound went straight to Buck's heart, restarting it in the most painful way. He gripped tighter, squeezing maybe too hard and rubbing his cheek against the top of her head. She shook against him, shoulders shuddering as she let herself fall back into the same sobbing he had seen when he first slipped in. The sound tore at him- he felt the first tinges of water in his own eyes. All he wanted to do was take the pain away. It felt so futile, holding her in his arms and letting her cry and having no idea what to actually do. Some boyfriend he was.

Boyfriend?

He shook the rogue thought from his mind, but allowed lingering connections to remain.  He heard her playful voice in his head: _'What? I wanted one too.'_  It had brought her back then. He hadn't even done anything, aside from being caught off guard by the sudden forward kiss she had bestowed upon him. How much more effective would it be if he actually participated?

Buck had always believed in the secret, magical power of kisses. Ever since he was a child-- his Dad gave him so few, he had always just assumed they were reserved for extra special occasions. And they always had such a powerful effect-- certainly that meant they were magic, right? Even as he got older, that was one belief he stood by resolutely: Kisses were sacred. And their powers? Unknowable.

He leaned back away from the hug and looked her over, taking everything in. Even in the dark, he could make out the scrutinizing confusion she gave him for breaking the hug. In reply he smiled apologetically. While he wasn't exactly sure how to go about the next part, he had a vague idea of where to start. With all the grace of a turtle, he wiggled around to the empty side of her bed. She watched him move, sniffling only a little, doing her best to hold back tears while she figured out what he was doing. He closed his eyes and took a long breath before taking off his sunglasses and setting them on her nightstand. When he looked back at her, he could tell he had her full attention-- the shades come off, it always means something serious. Jenny's deep dark eyes were trained on his, unblinking, fluttering briefly to shake tears from her vision.

He scanned her face, searching for what needed to be done. With his vague idea and the spike of determination he only got when it came to Jenny, he began.

The first thing he did was wipe off her face with his palm. He touched her skin gently, pushing his left palm along the curve of her right cheek, pulling away the tears like a tissue. He moved the same hand across to her left cheek, using the back of his hand in the same way. She sat perfectly still, closing each eye as ran his hand under it. He wiped the hand off on his jeans, but his hazel eyes never left her brown ones. With the brunt of the wetness wiped from her face, he carefully covered the hollows of her full cheeks with his palms and ever so softly wiped her eyes with his thumbs. She closed them both, letting his thumbs kiss her skin just as lightly as her eyelashes brushed back against them. When her eyes fluttered back open he was watching her lips, looking down his long lashes at them before his eyes guided back to hers. Jenny didn't feel the next breath she took so much as she heard it swirl in her skull.

He kept one hand on her cheek, but he didn't pull her in. This was important, he told himself. Even if he messed up everything else, he needed to do this right. So instead of leaning in, he leaned sideways, coaxing her to follow as he slowly lied down on his side on the bed. She followed, matching his descent until they were lying in the dark, watching each other as best as they could with only the light through the window. The hand that was resting on her cheek pushed back, brushing over her ear, skirting into her hairline. Her eyes fluttered, but stayed open. She sniffled once more, but now there was only a light shine to her previously overflowing eyes. Buck's heart uncoiled a bit-- she was calming down. That much, at least, he was doing well.

They lied in silence for the moment, listening to each other breathe as Buck flexed his fingers in her short hair. He savored the moment, the way her eyes glistened and it broke his heart and healed it all at once, the way that even despite the dark he could fill in all the details that were so conspicuously absent alongside the light. He committed the taste of the air in the room to memory: a mix of Jenny's sharp cherry blossom perfume and the dull linger of pizza that he knew haunted the entire house.  He allowed himself a quick glance down her body- her knees her still pulled up, but less tightly, and now her hands were sandwiched between them instead of wrapped around them.

He took it all in with one final deep breath and looked back to her eyes. They had never left his face. It was all the encouragement he needed. He leaned in and pressed his lips against hers.

The magic was instant. There was a little spark that started where they connected and quickly pulsed through his entire system, leaving little waves in its wake. Jenny joined the kiss, pressing back against him, letting her eyes flutter closed and slanting her lips just so to fit perfectly against his. A new kind of spell was being cast-- a storm brewed just under his skin, and it felt like warm rain and puddles on the sidewalk and the occasional flash of lightning that stopped his heart dead. He pulled her head closer, gently, experimentally. She obliged, even pressing closer.

Buck Dewey had been kissed by a girl before. Several, in fact, and a boy as well. Tipsy kisses at parties started by a wayward wink. A peck behind the bleachers in middle school that jolted his senses and made him wonder why he'd never thought about boys before. But kissing Jenny? Being kissed _by_ Jenny? It created a new whole new color and painted over all the rest.

He pulled back slowly, not sure he was ready to, but needing to break the spell before the magic soured. You didn't master a spell the first time you tried it, after all. Her cheek was warm against his wrist and he felt her blow out a breath neither of them knew she'd been holding.

The right words popped into his head. And maybe, he thought, that was what this magic was about.

"I'm scared, too." he whispered.

The words drifted into the air between them, and for a moment he thought Jenny would reply. Instead, she threw her arms around his neck, launching herself forward to press another kiss to his mouth.

He wondered suddenly, with a new mouthful of Jenny and a head full of air, if the sensations would be new every time they kissed. And then he wondered if _every_ was actually going to enter the equation, and he smiled into the kiss despite himself, dropping his hand to her back. She wiggled closer now, her own hands pushing up into his hair as she rolled her body right up against him. They'd been best friends for a long time, and he'd been on the receiving end of many enticing hugs, but the way she pressed against him now was _dizzying_. He tugged at her back to keep her close, even though he doubted that would ever be a problem again, letting her kiss him like she could create comfort with her mouth. And at this point, he was pretty confident that she could.

Instantly he wondered if this was how Sour Cream had felt when Buck had kissed him so fiercely, and the thought made Buck's entire body go rigid. Jenny could feel it, he knew-- she pulled away not a second later, a tiny gasp of air between their lips that he felt in his _knees_ \-- and her arms pulled back until her hands were on his jaw.

"Buck?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper. Her cheek were still hot, but the fever had cleared from her eyes. Buck pulled a hand back to cover hers on his face.

It was surprisingly hard to find the words. Usually something would come to mind immediately and he would throw it out into the universe, no matter how accurate it ended up being. But for some reason, when it came to this... this mess he was feeling? He couldn't think of a single thing.

Somehow, Jenny knew anyway.

"Should I not have done that?" Jenny asked, chewing her lip. Buck chuckled hastily, clearing away the crack he could feel in his voice before he even tried to speak.

"That was, without a doubt, the coolest thing that has ever happened to me," he replied honestly. Her giggle was girlish and foreign, one she'd never offered him before, and it made him proud to discover this new kind of laugh. She settled back down, scooting back a couple inches and propping her head up on her arm.

"Then what is it?" She asked. "Talk to me." Her entire body language spoke of ease now. A quieter part of him thanked the magic of kisses, relieved to see her acting more like the Jenny he usually visited on late nights like this.

Still, despite the ease, a frown formed on his lips. He felt the corners of his mouth turn down and let them, pulling back into his thoughts to search for the source. He propped himself up to match her, the space between them empty but warm. The first thing that popped into his head spilled out of his mouth.

"I wish Sour Cream was here."

Jenny blinked and he heard his own words, felt the tingle in his lips. With the context reappearing before him, he flushed from ear to ear. "N-No, I mean, I don't--"

"I do too."

His mouth snapped shut. Her eyes were earnest, determined. There was a spark behind them, trying to communicate, but her lips were pressed in a firm line. His heart hammered in his chest and he suddenly wasn't sure why.

They continued to search one another's face in the dark, letting the moon drift and the light change as they tried to figure out what the other way thinking. Or what they themselves were thinking. It was hard to tell at this point.

But one thing was for sure-- they were both thinking about the same person. And that made it wrong for him not to be there. Buck let go of the uncertainty clouding around him and reached behind him for his shades. He pulled them down over his eyes without sitting up.

"Well I guess we'd better go get him, huh?"

Jenny's smile was bright enough to light the whole room.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter from a very vulnerable and real place. I hope it is even half as important to you as it is to me.
> 
> Check out "Sad Machine" by Anamanaguchi and "Magic" by Mystery Skulls-- two pretty central songs I orbited around while writing this chapter. Worth a listen :)
> 
> Thanks for reading, guys. Reviews are always welcome/appreciated. I've got at least 6 more chapters plotted out, so we've got plenty room to grow.  
> 


	5. Overnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently it's been a long night for everyone. The cool kids just need a break.

It was an itchy night.

The kind that promised no sleep and often more to cover up. Sour Cream leaned back in his swivel chair and glanced over at the only other light in the room, the glowing clock on his nightstand. 5:04. Awesome. The sun would be coming up soon. He took a second to stretch, hoping that faking exhaustion might make him tired. No luck.

He had sprawled out in bed just after 1AM, hoping for at least a few hours of sleep. After staring for the ceiling for a couple hours while absently scratching his sensitive arm, it was clear that even a few hours was probably optimistic. And there were so many other things he could be doing. Something that could put him to sleep, he could still do it, catch a couple of hours--

No.

He shook the stray thought from his head and returned his attention to his laptop. Mixing was the easiest medicine to choke down-- it may not have provided him sleep, but it kept his hands and his head busy so he couldn't focus on the warm tingle in his arms.  
Whenever he retired to his room for the night, he stripped off his jacket and unwrapped his arm. It always felt sweaty with the gauze wrapped around it, so when he put his bulky headphones back up, he couldn't help but glance at his right wrist. Perfectly parallel, every line that climbed from the base of his palm down to the crook his elbow. Something so aesthetically pleasing about the look of it, something that made his blood run cold and then wash clean the chaos in his head. It was easy. It was physical. It was... It was like tearing open his skin and watching the pain drip out. 

Bass thudded dully in his ears. He amped it up and tapped in a few sounds from one of the adjacent gameboy-turned-soundboards. It didn't quite mesh so he scrapped the first and alternated it out for one from a different handheld. 

His arm itched. He amped up the bass again.

He craved it. It was an addiction, just as bad as nicotine or alcohol. All he could think of was watching the blood blossom from a fresh cut, the serenity of making perfect marks, that familiar burn that could easily numb him enough to pass out for a few hours. The pulse of panicked skin thudding rhythmically over his muscles, desperate to heal itself and steady enough to rock him to sleep... it was intoxicating in a way alcohol never could be.

Sour Cream rubbed his eyes. That was the worst part about it: Insomnia or self harm. Those were his options. The cutting made him drowsy-- part of him worried that it had something to do with blood loss-- and without it he spent most nights awake at his computer, itching with feelings he couldn't figure out how to express.

So instead, he worked. Music was one of the few things he could managed to do when his feelings seemed so tangled. Something about the mix he was working on was desperate and tired all at once-- probably a side effect of his week. He brought in a violin track he'd found earlier in his night and thought instantly of Jenny in that doorway-

He squashed his thoughts and pressed forward in the track, reweighing the levels.

His pulse jumped under his wrist. He could feel the scrape of scabbed-over skin as he brushed past different gameboys. He swallowed. Keep working.

This was better than sleep, he told himself. This was okay. There was a ticking sound that was breaking up the flow of the track, he couldn't quite pin it. Where was it? Why was it so uneven? He listened for it, but it didn't follow any sort of beat. He scratched his arm. A little too hard. A hiss escaped him and he jerked his arm back. It was healed enough that the bit he scratched through didn't even bleed. Somehow that was worse.  
There it was, the ticking sound. He paused everything and played the different layers one at a time, looking for it again. They didn't sound like anything broken up. What had he hit and when that had added that sound?

The voice in the back of his head was beginning to itch as much as his arm. 'You can do it, you should do it, they won't even know, just keep it wrapped, its easier, it's easier, it's easier-'

Sour Cream ripped off his headphones with a groan and tossed them down on his chair as he stood. With a defeated sigh, he wandered over to his nightstand-- just enough to sleep, he was just so tired-- but before he could reach in,

TICK.

He jumped at the sound and turned to the source, somewhere to the left of his desk. Outside? Maybe he'd imagined it. Maybe he was finally just going crazy. It made his teeth clench, was it just his nerves? God, his arms itched. He was fine, it was fine, it was just a bird or something-

A snap against the window startled him and held his attention. For a second there was nothing. Then another- something- was that a marble? It appeared, bouncing off the window and falling back out of sight. Sour Cream was at the window before he realized how obvious the answer was. 

Buck and Jenny were on the ground two stories down, Jenny with a handful of marbles and Buck with his phone in hand. Sour Cream's heart jumped and it was startling in a new way, but not an unpleasant one. Having caught the pale boy's attention, Buck waved his phone with a lazy smile. Sour Cream blinked and sought his own phone immediately, finding it on the desk right before it buzzed. To Sour Cream's surprise, it was a phone call instead of a text. He answered before he even realized and clumsily held it to his ear.

Buck spoke before Sour Cream had a chance. "Hey, man. Let us in?"

"Y-yeah," Sour Cream swallowed the dry scratch in his throat left behind by the time. "Be down in a sec."

"Cool."

Without hanging up, Sour Cream slipped the phone into his pocket and padded quickly out of the room. He took the stairs two at a time on quick light feet and unlocked the front door smoothly, wondering if it was his guilt that had called out to them. The two were at the front door when he opened it, as if it were broad daylight, as if by magic. Sour Cream couldn't help but think they were glowing. His guests slipped in with their shoes already in hand.

Jenny pinched his cheek affectionately as she passed him to the stairs, hurrying up quietly and rounding the corner toward his room. Left behind, Sour Cream offered Buck a skeptical look. In return, Buck smiled apologetically.

"Jenny had a rough night," he whispered, close enough to Sour Creams neck that the words crowded warm on his skin. "I figured it would take both of us half the time to cheer her up."

Sour Cream winced. "She okay?" He whispered back.

Buck waved it off. "Yeah, dude, just needed her boys. You don't mind?"

'Her boys.' The phrase caught in Sour Cream's throat even though he hadn't been the one to say it. A swell of pride built in his chest and he shook his head, maybe too many times, as Buck took off up the stairs.

He didn't need to ask-- Sour Cream bee-lined for the kitchen and snagged some cups and Bipp before making his way back up the stairs. When he reached the bedroom and nudged the door open, Jenny was sprawled on her back on the bed, with Buck sitting on the floor against it. Jenny's arm was over her eyes. Buck looked up and smiled as if nothing was different.

"Sorry for the sudden visit," Buck said. Sour Cream kicked the door with his foot, just barely pushing it closed. Without much clean space- he knew they cared just as much as he did about how messy the room was- he nudged the alarm clock off the nightstand and set the Bipp and cups in its place. His first instinct was to sit on the bed with Jenny, but anxiety and guilt got the best of him and he instead opted for the swivel chair.

The room stayed quiet for a minute, Jenny not even stirring under her arm. Buck looked up at him, back down, then reached for the Bipp and poured himself a cup. Instead of taking a drink himself, he twisted back to look at the bed and bumped Jenny's arm with the cup.

"Drink?"

Jenny sat up quickly, and took the drink from him with a grin. Something about the way she moved was off, like she was pushing too hard, but Sour Cream told himself to chalk it up to exhaustion. The sun was about to come up, after all. Buck poured another cup and leaned forward this time, reaching it out to Sour Cream. He took it with a smile and looked back to Jenny as she took a small sip. An exaggerated sigh of satisfaction puffed from her lips and she closed her eyes serenely.

It was awkward. Just a little. Which was unusual. Sour Cream could tell they were all t least a little bit in their own heads. He just wasn't sure what to do about it. Usually they would listen to music, sometimes lay on the roof and watch the sun come up, sometimes watch movies on Buck's laptop. There wasn't always a plan, but one usually just unfolded once they got together. 

Sour Cream knew exactly what he wanted to do. His face flushed and he hid in his cup, taking the slowest drink he could manage.

They all drank their sodas awkwardly, the room so quiet for a moment you could almost hear the fizz in the cups. It seemed unfair that now that the pale boy was finally sleepy. Part of him was pleased, but most of him was annoyed- he didn't want to lose any time with them. And if Jenny needed him, he wanted to be there for her; 'Her boys.' He couldn't just flake out.

As if reading his mind, Jenny spoke up. 

"Y'know, that walk over actually really wiped me out," she said, and then downed her Bipp in one drink and gave the empty cup to Buck. The two boys watched as she swung her legs off the side of the bed and stretched her arms upward. She stood as she spoke, reaching to unbutton her jeans. "What do you guys think about just. Sleeping?"

The zipper moved slow. Probably. Maybe? Sour Cream only knew it felt like an eternity where he couldn’t pull his eyes away from her fingers as they slid down the zipper of her jeans. It didn’t matter that she had asked a question, or that she was wearing shorts underneath loose pants. As she pushed the denim down her dark legs his eyes followed. He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to piece together the words she had said.  
Sleep. She mentioned sleep. Buck moved to stretch as well and it pulled Sour Cream’s attention. As tired as he felt, Buck looked just as far in. Now Sour Cream wondered if he had slept any at all. Probably none of them had.

“Just sleeping sounds fantastic,” Buck resonated, giving Sour Cream a chance to catch up to the conversation. Buck stood and stretched as well before stripping his overshirt off.

This happened all the time. Jenny was not bashful. Sleepovers were frequent. It was far from the first time he’d seen her shimmy out of a pair of jeans. Sour Cream was surprised at his pang of regret as he stood and grabbed the cups to run them back downstairs.

“Sleep is fine with me,” he agreed.

When he returned to the bedroom, he was surprised to find Jenny already tucked into bed, the huge lumpy comforter pulled over her- and Buck- up to their shoulders. The two of them looked at Sour Cream expectantly when he walked in the door. The pale boy blinked. Jenny wiggled an arm free of the blanket and patted the space beside her.

“It’s nap time,” she said matter-of-factly. Buck nodded as he slipped off his shades and tossed them into the void near the nightstand. 

A wave of exhaustion swept over Sour Cream anew. The offer was more than enticing; it was divine. It was exactly what he needed and his body realized it. The king sized bed was often inviting and now warm as well. Still standing in the doorway, he flicked off the light. The sky outside was a reddish purple, dark enough to be cozy but light enough that he saw their gazes shift to the window.

“Wow..” Jenny muttered. He wouldn’t have heard it if his body hadn’t carried him instinctively over to the bed. He paused, standing next to her, suddenly nervous. They had crashed in this bed a million times before. But usually it was sheer exhaustion that took them, each of them falling asleep giggling, unable to stay awake even a second longer. It had never been premeditated. They had never all made it under the covers.

Exhaustion won out over anxiety, and he was grateful. He was starting to get sick of second-guessing things he had done so many times before. Nothing had changed, right? Except that his own dumb mistake had given Buck and Jenny a window into him. And they had come through in spades.

He shimmied into the sheets, sinking down next to Jenny, careful not to touch any part of her with any part of him. He lay flat on his back, not looking at either of them. Jenny’s warmth radiated against his side. He risked a glance and met eyes with Buck, who didn’t look away. The other grinned lazily at him and winked, putting an arm over top of the blanket and Jenny before closing his eyes. Jenny smiled, her eyes already closed, and snuggled deeper into her pillow. She was facing Sour Cream.

They looked so… flawless. All the time. In the dark they matched seamlessly, long eyelashes and intentionally mussed hair obscuring round soft features and peaceful expressions. Sour Cream always felt breathless watching them together, no matter what they were doing. It was like life had painted them together. They just…. fit. 

‘And you don’t,’ a part of him whispered. He shook it off, the pang of loneliness, and forced himself to look at them, his hands folded together on his stomach as he sank into his own pillow. He wanted… he knew what he wanted to do. But he couldn’t. Not without knowing it was more than just an in-the-moment gesture. It had meant something, he knew it. But… he really didn’t know what yet.

Something warm tickled his arm; Jenny’s hand groped out underneath the cover, grabbing at him under the comforter. Her delicate fingers brushed the healing cuts and caressed them, just barely touching. His heart leapt and his hand tentatively sought hers. Small slender fingers laced with his long bony ones. Jenny sighed in her sleep, just a small happy noise in her throat. 

It meant something. No matter what he was. No matter what they were. No matter what happened. They would always be the cool kids. 

He drifted to sleep watching the rise and fall of their shoulders, and dreamt of the smell of honey and forests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the first half of this chapter a year ago, and the last half this month. I am so sorry for the wait. But I need you guys to know that you all matter so much to me, and that your comments have kept me working-- not always on this, but on my own personal projects as well. Thank you thank you thank you for your encouragement. I am touched and blessed by your words every time, no matter what they are. Thanks for taking the time to read and/or comment. It does a heart the kind of good that most people never find.
> 
> I LOVE YOU GUYS. I hope this chapter isn't too underwhelming and depending on feedback I might come back and edit it later on, but I wanted to get it done so I could move on to the next one. I'd like to devote a little time to this fic again. I miss it and I fully believe it deserves to be continued and fleshed out. It means a lot to me, and from your comments, I know it means a lot to some of you too.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Sorry for the wait. I hope you all are having a wonderful week! See you in the next one. ;)


	6. Morning Glory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wake up, embarrass yourself, have a crisis, pancakes.

The birds chirruped outside the little window in Sour Cream’s room, just barely overshadowed by the squawk of gulls. Jenny tossed gently and tried to roll over, but only her top half turned. Suddenly she was tangled, her body contorted uncomfortably enough to pull her from her pleasant, light sleep. Her eyes drifted open as she tried to figure out what the new fabric against her nose was.

It turned out to be Buck’s armpit. She was pressed nose-first against his sleep shirt. When she tried to move her legs, she found them tangled with Sour Cream’s, her toes pressed against the back of his calf. The two boys had curled in toward her sometime during the night, surrounding her in a little cocoon of warm bodies. Her blush was instant and tingled against her neck.

She was immediately aware of two things: First, it was too hot. Too too hot. Like this was nice and all, but with the heavy comforter and the boys right up against her, it was kind of a sauna. They may have been tiny, bony creatures, but Jenny had plenty of meat to keep her warm, so this was a little bit excessive.

Second, there was a hand between her thighs.

She took a quick inventory, just to make sure her brain was firing correctly. One of her own hands was on top of the blanket. The other one seemed to be sandwiched between her shoulder and Buck’s ribs. So both of hers were accounted for, than. Cool. Her legs jerked involuntarily when the fingers wiggled.

They weren’t… there at least. Oh jeez. She swallowed, acutely aware of her body. With her top turned toward Buck but her hips twisted toward Sour Cream, she could only assume the long lanky boy was the culprit. That somehow made it worse. Maybe because Buck would brush it off with an aloof apology, but Sour Cream would agonizing over it if given the chance. Like he’d stolen her innocence or something.

The thought made her snort, which made Buck stir, which made her stiffen and purse her lips shut. Maybe she could figure this out before either of them woke up?

She shifted her legs gently, experimentally. She couldn’t pull them away from Sour Cream without brushing them against his legs for a good couple seconds. That most definitely would wake him. She thought maybe twisting would work, but if she tried for a smooth roll away, she would just end up completely on top of Buck. Could she just… separate her thighs, and maybe his hand would just fall away?

It was worth a shot. Definitely the easiest to try without waking him up. Very carefully she pulled her knees away from each other. The hand between them slid upward- the wrong direction- and gave a little squeeze to her upper upper thigh.

Jenny yelped and clamped her legs back down on the hand. Her heart was racing, jolting as the fingers wiggled again. Sleeping Sour Cream was ballsy. And he better hope to God he was actually sleeping. If she found out he was awake, he wouldn’t get that hand back.

Buck shifted next to her and wiggled an arm over her waist, flexing his fingers and settling against her navel. She sighed, blowing hair out of her face. This felt more and more like a prank. She tried not to think about the warm hands on her upper inner thigh and stomach respectively.

But she did. A flash in her mind saw them both awake, both watching her, intentionally shifting fingers and brushing skin and pulling themselves against her. Her face heated and she managed to free her arms enough to cover her face, trying to hide from her imagination.

She had never-- okay, maybe once or twice she had thought about her boys that way, when she was drunk or alone and just musing about life and where it could go-- but she’d never thought about them together. At the same time?? Wasn’t that a bit excessive?? And more than a little naughty. Bad Jenny. Keep your pants on.

She wished she had kept her pants on last night. Then her skin wouldn’t feel like it was on fire at those five little points where fingertips lay. Surely his hand was asleep by now, if it hadn’t been already. She realized she was actively squeezing her thighs together and lightened up the pressure.

The hand moved, but thank God, it moved to slip out and away from her stuff. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Maybe she would even fall back asleep for a few minutes… but the hand instead grazed her stomach, brushing Buck’s. Where was this all going to go? And why was she the guinea pig? Sleeping in the middle was both the best and the worst.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. “Sour Cream, I’m going out! Do you need anything from the store?”

Jenny thrashed and flipped over just in time to make eye contact with Vidalia as she pushed the door open. The two stared at one another, Jenny’s eyes wide and face heating, Vidalia’s face unreadable and muted. The young Mom jutted out her bottom lip, taking in the scene and nodding as if storing information.

“Hey, Jenny, good to see you,” Vidalia finally said. Her voice was completely casual, but the calm smile on her face bared just the tiniest hint of a smirk underneath. “Any idea what you guys want for lunch? I’m heading out to the market.”

“Uhh.” Words wouldn’t form in Jenny’s mouth, so she opened and closed it a few more times, eyes locked on Sour Cream’s unconcerned mother in the doorway.

Buck twisted away from Jenny, stretching and rolling over to face Vidalia. “I could make some street style tacos if you picked up some chicken and those itty bitty tortillas.”  
Vidalia hummed pleasantly, leaning on the doorknob. “Yeeeees. You know I’m weak for your street tacos.” She popped up on her tiptoes, tilting her chin up to see Sour Cream over the two of them. “Anything for you, kiddo?”

Jenny whirled around again to find Sour Cream with the blanket tucked up over his nose, eyes open. He shook his head in response.

“Alright, cool. I’ll be back in like forty-five.” Vidalia nodded, made a fingerpistol and clicked her tongue before swinging the door shut.

The room was quiet for a minute. Buck settled back into the bed, crossing his arms under his head, and smiled up at Jenny. It was so disarming. The tension in her shoulders lifted and she smiled back. She realized quickly the only way to defuse Sour Cream, who was still peaking out from under the covers nervously, was through normality.

Jenny took an exaggerated breath like a yawn and smacked her lips, pulling her legs up so she was sitting cross legged. “Good morning,” she said lazily at Buck.

“Good morning,” The boy replied. 

Jenny turned and smiled down at Sour Cream, being careful to smile in the same lazy way.

“Morning,” she said again, trying not to overdo the casual tone.

Sour Cream wiggled until his chin was out from under the cover. He brought a fist up and rubbed his eye. “G’morning.”

Jenny breathed a quiet sigh of relief and sank back down into the bed. Beside her, Buck had retrieved his shades from the messy ocean that was the floor and propped himself up on his elbow.

“I’m thinking breakfast before lunch today.”

 

Over a tall stack of pancakes, Jenny watched her boys shuffle around the kitchen, laughing lightly as they searched for more random ingredients to throw into the batter. In the background of their discourse were lingering touches she had never noticed before. A hand on a shoulder, brushing the backs of hands at the counter. Buck pressed full body against Sour Cream to reach past him for his orange juice. They didn’t even seem to notice. Or maybe this was just the new normal. Jenny took a bite of her breakfast-- hers had chocolate chips and peaches mixed in-- and sighed happily out her nose. Pancakes were such a good way to start a new day. Watching the boys pick out random items from the cabinets and compare was just a sweet bonus. 

At her house, the night before, the way she had kissed Buck was… new. Honest, but new. It felt good and happened organically, and that was scary, but also exciting. Not like she hadn’t kissed Buck before. But a peck on the lips did not a body roll and mussed up hair make. And that little sound he had made in the back of his throat when she tugged his hair, the way his hands had gripped abruptly tighter.. She choked a little on the syrup and went quickly for a drink of milk.

She didn’t want it to end.

But it didn’t hurt when it did.

When he mentioned Sour Cream, her heart had skipped a beat. It didn’t drop. In retrospect, it almost felt like it should have. But when he said his name, suddenly his being there made total sense. Wasn’t she supposed to be jealous, that he thought of Sour Cream when kissing her? But she had brought it up, so that would have been silly too. The whole reason he had been there was because she was crying about Sour Cream. In that case, did that make the kiss dirty? Had both of them just been substituting each other for someone else?

The boys jumped and rounded on her, eyes wide. It took her a second to realize she had slammed her cup of milk back down on the counter. She cleared her throat and offered the cup forward.

“Can I have some more milk?”

Buck took the red solo cup, glancing at the half full contents. “Yeah, sure,” he said, turning for the fridge. She could always count on Buck to brush off the weirdness of a request.

Was she jerking them along? But were they doing it too? She watched Sour Cream watch Buck, recognizing a pink tint bloom on the skinny boy’s ears. No, this wasn’t toying. Whatever was happening, she realized in the pit of her stomach, was legit. They all felt something. Something was shifting.

They were still her boys. They had all been inseparable for so long. And the way things were going now, one of them was going to be left behind. Someone was going to get third wheeled. That was just the natural order, right? When two of your friends got together, one person was always phased out. Buck slid the cup back to her. She smiled gratefully, and was greeted with a smile like sunlight in return. It made her feel warm. When Buck turned back to Sour Cream, his smile didn’t change.

Buck smoothed up a lock of Sour Cream’s hair that was falling forward over his eyes. Sour Cream didn’t look up from the pancake he was trying to flip in the pan. The touches were all so similar to how they had always been. There was just.. It was like something had changed in the air. Glances lasted a split second longer. Things that seemed harmless before felt weighted. Not in a bad way. It was just like everything that happened meant a little bit more.

Even now, watching the boys goof off and cook even though they had already made about 20 assorted pancakes, it just felt so.. Domestic. That was the word. She couldn’t find it before, but that was what waking up between them and all brushing their teeth in Sour Cream’s tiny bathroom and coming down to have their first meal of the day together felt like. It wasn’t just casual fun anymore. 

Now it felt like the gold standard.

Buck slid a plate of pancakes onto the counter and plopped down on the stool next to Jenny. He playfully bumped their shoulders.

“How is it?”

“It’s,” Jenny pulled back slightly when Sour Cream leaned on the counter in front of her, joining the new conversation passively. The two of them were watching her now, waiting for an answer. The knot in her stomach untied. She grinned. “It’s like fate brought these ingredients together.”

“Really? Chocolate chips and peaches?”

She nodded matter-of-factly. “Of course. Perfect harmony.”

Sour Cream snorted. “You’re weird.”

She tousled the hair Buck had fixed moments before. Buck whined in protest. “You are not wrong,” she said.

‘I wish Sour Cream was here,’ she heard Buck say in her head. ‘I do too,’ she replied, and she captured that feeling again, for just a moment, what she had meant in her hazy brain during the exchange, what she had tried to tell him with her eyes, what it had meant to her for herself. As quickly as she caught it, the feeling was gone again, but behind it lingered safety. 

Jenny Pizza was not a woman of compromise. And that wouldn’t change now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really struggled for a little while with this chapter and then this morning it all just kind of fell into place so here it is. :) Hope you enjoy.
> 
> I think in the next chapter or two, it's gonna kick off. Look forward to that.
> 
>  
> 
> On politics:
> 
> I know the community is a little less safe right now. Everything just got a little more frightening. And there are going to be people in your life who don't understand why you are scared. 
> 
> That's why community is important. Connection with other people who understand. Or at least, sympathize.
> 
> If any of you need anything, feel free to reach out to me. I'm always free to talk.


	7. Inebriation pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inebriation can take you all sorts of place. A lot of them are not great. But a few of them are all right.

“All I’m saying is that…” Sour Cream had to stop, sloshing a bit of beer into the sand around him as he tried to catch the train of thought that was rapidly leaving him. His eyes screwed up and he looked through the smoke of the bonfire at hazy stars. Despite his efforts, the point he was going to make seemed to disappear with the smoke, so he leaned back and brought the beer back to his lips. “... You know what I mean.”  
   
“Yeah, man,” Buck said. He was relaxing with his legs stretched out to the right of the fire, looking at what was left of the sunlight as it tumbled over the edge of the ocean. Sour Cream followed his gaze to the blend of oranges and reds and blues. The fire crackled beside them, giving a hint of warmth to the rapidly-cooling evening.  
   
Nothing looked quite as magnificent as a Beach City sunset. During the Summer the three of them made a point to come out to the beach as much as possible to watch the sunset, but while it was still spring it was usually too cold. Jenny was decidedly out anytime before May, but that didn’t stop the boys from finding themselves at the pier at the end of a stroll around town. Sour Cream’s backpack had been emptied of coolers and firestarter, and the two of them were now almost out of both. Sour Cream had spread out his jacket to sit on- it was just barely big enough for both of them to fit comfortably, but it meant Buck could keep his overshirt on. Sour Cream barely noticed the cold.  
   
This was especially true thanks to the fire in his belly. Tingles coursed to all of his limbs like an internal blanket. Beer was an acquired taste that neither of them cared to acquire, but it was all Mayor Dewey had, so Buck had snagged the whole 6-pack on their way out the door. They were each down to their last bottle.  
   
Buck drained the last of his beer with grimace. “Blegh.” He tucked the bottle into the sand, twisting it to settle deeper and stand up with his other two. He sighed. “I can’t wait to buy my own, man. Get me some of those hard ciders.”  
   
Sour Cream nodded, staring up through the smoke, the way it wavered made the stars dance. His head swayed gently with them until it made his head spin and he stopped. “I like dark liquor,” he mumbled. Buck snorted.  
   
“Your body has no chill.”  
   
Sour Cream nodded, and continued nodding, his head bobbing gently while he looked down at his beer. He felt good. He felt quiet. But that felt okay. And that in itself was refreshing. He drained the last of his beer to match Buck and used the bottle to prod their little fire. He dared a glance sideways.  
   
Buck had locked his elbows and was leaning back on them, looking straight out at the horizon. The opposite of Sour Cream who was hunched forward with his legs folded. There was something like determination Sour Cream could see behind Buck’s shades, which, he mused, were probably making it look a lot more like night than it actually was yet. Maybe Buck just looked determined when he was tipsy. That was possible too. Sour Cream’s head continued to bob in agreement with nothing, looking out at the water.  
   
The sun was creeping down at a surprising pace. Sour Cream never expected it to disappear as fast as it did. He watched as the gap between the sun and its reflection closed.  
   
“It’s time,” he said seriously. Buck hummed an agreement as Sour Cream dug a hand into his backpack.  
   
After a second of rattling around its scamp insides, he produced a fistfull of glowsticks, half of which he gave to Buck. The sun was kissing its reflection now, just beginning to disappear behind the sea. The boys cracked their glowsticks and shook them, arms raised in a sign of solidarity for the escaping sun.  
   
“Nice,” Buck said, and Sour Cream wasn’t sure if he was complimenting their star or their celebration of it. The DJ stuffed a couple lit glow sticks in his pockets and idly made three more into bracelets. Buck had connected his to fit around his neck, with the remaining one around his wrist. They crafted their gear in silence until they had both settled back in. The wind was surprisingly cold.  
   
Buck let out a long breath.  
   
“I kissed Jenny.”  
   
The words went through Sour Cream’s ears a couple seconds before he understood them. His eyes widened and he snapped his attention back to Buck. Buck didn’t look away from the vanishing sun.  
   
Sour Cream swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. “Yeah?”  
   
“Yeah.”  
   
Sour Cream wasn’t sure what he was supposed to glean from this news. It wasn’t altogether surprising. It definitely wasn’t unbelievable. They were as comfortable as you could get with one another without crossing lines. Maybe they were just finally crossing them.  
   
Buck piped up again. “Before we came to your house the other night. She was crying and I kissed her.”  
   
Sour Cream tucked his arms tighter into the space between his folded legs, looking down at his fingers.  
   
“What was it like?”  
   
He was surprised that that was what came out of his mouth. He had passed up ‘Oh’ and ‘Cool’ and ‘That’s new’ and gone straight to the question he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask. The possible answers flooded him with fear.  
   
“Trying to describe it would only be a disservice to the experience itself.”  
   
Sour Cream thought of the measly kiss he had shared with Jenny and knew it must have been completely different. A knot was forming in his stomach and it felt like jealousy or loneliness or some kind of betrayal. All of those seemed ridiculous-- it was Buck. He wrestled with a growing confusion-turning-frustration.  
   
“I said your name.” Buck said.  
   
“You--” It registered slowly, and incorrectly at first. “You what?” Sour Cream struggled to put the sentence in some different order, one that made it mean something to him.  
   
“We kissed and it was… intense. And comforting. And I said...” Buck took a breath like he’d forgotten to. “ ‘I wish Sour Cream was here.’ ”  
   
The first sentence had only just started to have meaning, even if it didn’t make sense, and now Sour Cream was convinced he was hallucinating the whole conversation. He opened and closed his mouth, and again, and then put his empty bottle back to his lips just to make it stop. “W-why?” he asked into the bottle.  
   
Buck looked over his shoulder and shrugged. “Why not?”  
   
Sour Cream had no idea what was happening. Surely he was misunderstanding the situation. He was definitely barely understanding, and he didn’t know if that was just the alcohol or the strange direction it had turned: away from kissing the beautiful, passionate Jenny, and onto missing the tall lanky depressive.  
   
Buck shuffled around so he was sitting on his knees facing Sour Cream. He looked like a samurai, his fists balled on his thighs. “I don’t know why it was the first thing I thought of, but I have a theory. Do you want to hear it?”  
   
Sour Cream felt himself sit up straighter. “Y...yes?” I think so. I know so. I’m too deep in to not know now. Buck inched forward slightly and then sat back on his heels.  
   
“I love Jenny.” Sour Cream felt a pang again, that same stab, but bit it back. “And I love you.” The listening boy swallowed, trying to maintain whatever face he had started out with. “I think it feels weird when something happens to one of us but not all of us?”  
Buck seemed to falter as his own words came out of his mouth. He inspected the palm of his hand as if the answers would be there. Sour Cream knew that look-- something that made sense in his head and fell apart coming out of his mouth. It was the closest thing Buck did to doubt. Sour Cream attempted a casual smirk.  
   
“That sounds like guilt, man,” Sour Cream offered, hoping he sounded more informative than disappointed. He was so happy he was tipsy. It made sharing so much easier.  
   
Buck scrunched up his nose. “No, it’s not like that,” he sighed. He shifted to fold his legs like Sour Cream’s. “It was just. An amazing feeling. And I wanted that for you, too.”  
   
Sour Cream took in the new information as evenly as he could. He thought of the kiss, tried to imagine it, and then thought of his own. It seemed relevant and, he realized, Buck couldn’t have known. It only seemed fair to tell him now.  
   
“She kissed me, too.”  
   
Buck’s eyebrows shot up from behind his shades. “Yeah?”  
   
“Yeah,” Sour Cream looked past him to the sun, now halfway hidden by sea. “When you guys uh. Found me.” He tried, for now, to not remember Buck’s disorienting slam of a kiss. “I don’t think it was the same as yours.” His eyes widened. “Y-your kiss with her, I mean.”  
   
Buck’s nose and cheeks were pink with the cold. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Context is everything. Any gesture is colored by the moment and magic behind it.”  
   
Sour Cream nodded, vaguely understanding, unable to take his eyes off Buck’s mouth. His own tasted like beer.  
   
“It made me think, though.”  
   
“Yeah?” Sour Cream replied absently.  
   
“Yeah.”  
   
“About what?”  
   
“The way I kissed you wasn’t the way I kissed Jenny.”  
   
And there it was. That was the acknowledgement that they, intentionally or not, had avoided since the day it happened. For Buck, it may not have meant the same as it did for Sour Cream- Buck had so much conviction in everything he did. He was not a man of regret. But the pale, shivering, tipsy teenager had almost convinced himself he had imagined it, for as little as Buck had said about it. It had felt like a singular event, one in and of it’s own unique and inexplicable.  
   
“I mean…” Sour Cream offered, trying to pull some English words out of his befuddled, inebriated brain. “...doesn’t that make sense?”  
   
“Why would it?”  
   
This was a harder question to answer than Sour Cream had expected.  
   
“I mean, I love you and Jenny the same way,” Buck mused.  
   
“Y-you do?”  
   
“Of course, man,” Buck said with a sincere smile. “You’re my best friends.”  
   
Butterflies turned in Sour Cream’s stomach. He wanted to squirm, felt himself bundling up in those words for warmth and safety. He wanted to read Buck’s face, but the dwindling light was too dim. It was hard to believe that Buck felt the same about both of them, but then, Sour Cream thought, he probably just didn’t realize his feelings for Jenny yet.  
   
All of this honest discourse was having a weird effect on his buzz. He wasn’t sure he liked it, but it still felt important, so he tried to hold onto it. This seemed real. It might have just been the alcohol, but ‘drunk words were sober thoughts’, according to his mom. And she was definitely the expert on underaged drinking.  
   
Buck scooted closer. His best friend had the same even look on his face as always- unreadable, serious, sincere.  
   
“I did you a disservice,” Buck said.  
   
“How-”  
   
“I want to kiss you again.”  
   
A jolt locked Sour Cream’s muscles and his nose and ears pinked. “Y-you do?”  
   
“I do,” Buck assured. “But only if you’re comfortable with it.”  
   
“Uhh.” Everything was so far away from how he’d imagined their night going.  
   
“It just doesn’t feel right,” Buck said. He was searching his own head for clarification. “You had no say in the kiss before. I meant it, it felt like the right thing to do, but I didn’t give you a chance to say no. You weren’t an equal party. When I look at it from your side, it doesn’t sit well with me.”  
   
Sour Cream nodded as if he understood, and he was pretty sure he did. And then he realized Buck was staring at him, less than a foot away, waiting for some kind of answer.  
   
“Can I kiss you?”  
   
Sour Cream swallowed. “I um..” Sour Cream saw the falter in Buck’s face, something that registered his hesitance as a no, and the words tumbled out of his mouth, “Yeah, you- I uh..”  
   
Buck scooted closer again, eyes locked on Sour Cream’s. His hands were close enough to Sour Cream’s knees to feel the warmth. The glow of his necklace lit up all the wrong lines of the boy’s face, made him ethereal.  
   
“Yes.” Sour Cream heard himself whisper, entranced. He cleared his throat, trying to gain some control of the hammering behind his ribs.  
   
Buck’s smile turned almost childish. “Cool,” he said softly, and suddenly Sour Cream remembered that this was Buck. Harmless, gentle, genuine Buck who didn’t understand jealousy and thought good vibes made the grass grow. This was someone he had been friends with for as long as he had had friends, and had never said a foul word to or about him.  
   
If he was going to be kissed, who alive was more qualified to do it?  
   
Sour Cream straightened his shoulders again as Buck began to move. He leaned back to shift his legs around and find a better position, but was surprised when Buck put an arm in the sand by his hips. Surprise turned to panic when the dark haired boy shifted his weight and walked one knee over Sour Cream’s thigh, straddling him. He was standing on his knees over him, and Sour Cream thanked whatever God was out there for his best friend so generously avoiding sitting on his lap. Beer had made him dizzy in a few different ways and the last thing he needed was for separate intentions to come across. Buck shifted his weight between his knees, getting a good angle so he was looking just barely down at Sour Cream’s round alarmed eyes.  
   
“Is this okay?” he asked plainly.  
   
Sour Cream nodded, probably one time too many, and blinked hard to make himself stop. Buck nodded back, and cupped Sour Cream’s face. His cheeks were hot, but the edge where they met his ears were frozen.  
   
Buck held them there for what felt like solid minutes. Sour Cream’s panic ebbed, lessening as he had the chance to settle into the position and explore Buck’s face. This close, the glow sticks around his wrist and neck gave the barest light. The green tint maintained the darkness that surrounded them now that the sun had disappeared. Sour Cream’s heart slowed, and he found himself deafened by the slow gentle thuds. He thought he could feel Buck’s pulse in his palms. The boys sat perfectly still, staring at one another in a stand off.  
   
“Okay.” Buck finally said. Before Sour Cream could panic anew, he dipped down and pressed their lips together.  
   
Soft. Warm. Wetter than Sour Cream expected, but that could have been the alcohol and it could have been his own mouth. Buck’s lips were barely parted, and it felt wrong not to match it. His heart picked up when he did, feeling the softer part of Buck’s inner lip. He could smell beer and taste salt, and taking in all these new sensations recolored his kiss from before, all desperation and copper and fear. Now he felt intention.  
   
Buck pressed closer against him, and it felt similar to the press of their previous kiss. There was need involved. Sour Cream’s hand came up and gripped Buck’s side, like answering a call. Buck shivered against the cold. Sunglasses bumped clumsily against Sour Cream’s nose as Buck tilted his head and deepened the kiss.  
   
It pulled the air out of Sour Cream. Like the oxygen he had was no longer enough for his heart. He wasn’t sure how involved he should get, whether that was appropriate or if this was just a gesture, but Buck’s hands slid back into his hair and Sour Cream realized his hand was now on the back of Buck’s neck. He was moving on his own, without consulting his brain first, and that was both exhilarating and terrifying all at once.  
   
Their lips moved together, now shifting instead of still, and the friction was as intoxicating as any liquor he’d ever had. He pressed up into the kiss and felt Buck press back, pushing into him like he couldn’t speak, but needed to get across a novel’s worth of words. It felt as real as it could get. And Sour Cream could not rob himself of something so new and inviting.  
   
Kissing like this was something Sour Cream had never done before. He could imagine Jenny in this situation, receiving this kind of kiss, returning it rewardingly and generously. He felt so safe. The thought made him proud of Buck, being able to give that to Jenny, protect his friend so viscerally. He realized how simple the moment was, that that safety was what Buck had wanted to offer him when they had a found him in a puddle in the floor. In that moment he wanted Buck to feel as safe as he did right then.  
   
Maybe he could try?  
   
Sour Cream risked a tug with both hands, pressing deeper against Buck. There was a little sound of surprise in the back of Buck’s throat, and Sour Cream felt it everywhere, his mouth, his hands, his brain, his knees. It was the most satisfying sound he had ever experienced, and he had had a part in making it. That was something he had never thought about before, never had the chance to imagine, and he knew it would color Buck’s lips for the rest of their friendship.  
   
Buck’s fingers squeezed at Sour Cream’s hair, and with that final sweet gesture, he pulled back and parted their mouths. The air was still warm between them and Sour Cream found himself catching his breath.  
   
Buck took a long drink of air like he had just been underwater. Sour Cream licked his lips, staring at Buck’s, very aware of his body and his hands still on Buck’s back. Buck’s own hands cupped his neck, resting carefully on his shoulders. Their warmth was spreading through him and biting back at the cold.  
   
“Cool,” Buck said, and Sour Cream thought maybe it was supposed to sound final, but it came off to him as confirmation.  
   
“C-cool,” Sour Cream replied, and suddenly he was very aware of everywhere Buck was touching his body-- his legs on the outside of Sour Cream’s own, his hands on his neck, his back in his hands. Sour Cream pulled his hands away and attempted to lean back on them for space, but all it did was let Buck shift down to sitting on his thighs and bracing his arms on Sour Cream’s chest.  
   
“You’re a gentle lover, man,” Buck said.  
   
Sour Cream blanched. “W-why would you use that word? Use a different one!”  
   
“That’s what kisses are though, a form of love.”  
   
“Yeah but that’s not what that means!”  
   
“Whatever man, you’re a good kisser.”  
   
Buck laughed at him, a contagious laugh that bubbled up in Sour Cream’s own throat.  
   
“I am?” Sour Cream said, like the last few sentences hadn’t happened. Buck nodded.  
   
“Definitely. I felt your heart.” He pudged his index finger into Sour Cream’s chest. “I felt your soul.”  
   
Sour Cream was listening, but mostly thinking about kissing again, and feeling awkward about thinking about kissing again, and wishing he wasn’t under Buck but also very aware that he was. Buck seemed to notice too and leaned back a little to brace himself on Sour Cream’s shins.  
   
“Is this too girly? I was tapping into Jenny’s spirit when we initiated.”  
   
‘Initiated’ made Sour Cream cringe but also smile.  
   
“Too girly is a construct, man.” Sour Cream said, looking for Buck’s eyes to avoid his mouth. “It’s very you, though.”  
   
Buck grinned. “You think so? I just assumed, with our dynamic and size, this would work best.”  
   
Sour Cream snorted and nodded, faux serious. “Certainly. Quite appropriate.”  
   
Buck gave him a little shove and earned a laugh. The two devolved into tipsy giggling for a moment before Buck leaned up and planted a little kiss on his forehead. With that, he disengaged, twisting backward off of Sour Cream and settling down beside him again.  
   
The air was much colder and the wind was starting to pick up, even for the beach.  
   
Sour Cream’s heart was still rattling in his chest. His face was hot enough to keep the rest of him warm. Next to him, Buck tipped sideways until they were shoulder to shoulder. Sour Cream felt his body relax.  
   
There was nothing like a Beach City sunset.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love every time I get an email with a comment saying 'Are you continuing' or 'When is the next chapter coming' because it makes me SIT DOWN AND TRY TO REWRITE CHAPTERS IM NOT HAPPY WITH.  
> I liked where this was going and then just couldn't get it there. I've been working two jobs so its been hard to really sit down with it and get in the headspace.  
> But this is part one of what may be a spaced out series of chapters. I'm not sure I'll do them all in a row, but they'll all be kind of similar.  
> Sour Cream and Buck just needed some one-on-one time. 
> 
> Thank you guys so much for all of your comments, kudos and attention of any sort. I'm glad anyone is reading. I miss when I could sit and write for days straight. Oh to be a teenager again~  
> (Or maybe just living with my mom again ahahaa bills and rent are gross)
> 
> I will keep writing and strive to bring you guys more comments. You all keep me going when things get hard so thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy this chapter, even if I myself am not so sure about it. Let me know what you think! Your thoughts might help me revise ;)


	8. Inebriation pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kisses and near misses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love and appreciate you guys. For real. To anyone still reading, thanks so much. I have loved my baby of a story and hope to continue dropping chapters at random as I find more story to tell. And I hope you guys take something away from it too. 
> 
> Thanks, all.

A new pattern had emerged for party-Jenny and party-Buck (as thus they had dubbed themselves when they were drunk.) Neither of them noticed, assuming every time they were drunk that it was a one-off thing, that it was an alcohol-induced thrill and that it wouldn’t happen again. And then it kept happening. And after 6 consecutive parties, the term ‘one-off’ was becoming a hard sell.

The first kiss was at a party two weeks after their first at Jenny’s house. Maybe it was the space between the kisses that made it feel like a firework, or maybe just the Fireball Whiskey. Either way, while they were ushering the party-goers out of Sour Cream’s rave at sunrise, they wandered around the edge of the warehouse, giggling and passing their bottle of whiskey back and forth. Buck stumbled against the wall, pulling Jenny with him in an attempt to catch himself, and what started as a tumble turned into a messy kiss. Just the one, a slow wet press of mouths before Jenny was pulling away laughing, doubling over as her stomach stitched with uncontrollable guffaws. Buck laughed too, and the moment was forgotten.

The second was soon after, just a couple days later at Buck’s house. A small informal party consisting of the three cool kids, a handle of vodka and a variety of sodas to mix with it. Two hours into the tournament for ‘Best Soda mixer’, Buck staggered to the bathroom. It took him ten minutes to wash his hands, but when he opened the door, Jenny was waiting outside. She pulled him out by his shirt collar, planted a thick kiss on his slackened mouth, and then spun them around and shut herself in the bathroom. He chuckled, wondering if her lip balm was the sweet taste on the corner of his mouth, and made his way back to where Sour Cream was setting up the finalist sodas.

The third and fourth happened at the same party, and would therefore have been counted as one if anyone had ever discussed it. It started as a game of spin the bottle. A quick wet smack on the mouth that seemed instant and then gone. Jenny felt good about how nothing it was, that it was just a kiss, just a drunken bit of fun. And then she thought that again when she crashed into him on the porch later, and he caught her by cupping her face and cushioning the fall with his mouth. Sure that one lasted a little longer, but it was still pretty short, right? So one kiss total for the night.

The next two kisses were all a blur. Buck himself wasn't actually sure where his busted lip had come from after a late night beach party, and Jenny didn't remember having chewing gum the night before when she woke up after a Fishstew Pizza event.

The seventh and most recent kiss was memorable for a number of reasons. For one, Jenny was a little more plastered than usual, and was therefore fresh out of inhibitions. She pulled Buck back toward Sour Cream, through the crowds of people at the house party (whose house were they even at?) but a wayward dancer knocked them off balance and sent them toppling to the couch. The two laughed, Buck trying to brush beer foam off of his shirt and Jenny a tangle of legs and laughter on top of him. She pushed herself up off her elbows, bracing herself on the armrest, but Buck's laughter was just so pleasant in her ears that she immediately needed to thank him for it. Instead of shimmying fully off his lap, she flipped over, slid his sunglasses up his forehead, and slammed her mouth into his.

She had thought of it as a 'thank you', but it felt like a 'please' against his mouth. He was still laughing and she could feel teeth against her lips, and that made her laugh too, because how dare he ruin her thank you with his pearly whites? But then his arms went around her sides, beer sloshing against her back and making her shriek from the cold as he kissed back. And now he was kissing her teeth and that was even funnier, and it turned into another melted puddle of giggling, Buck with his forehead pressed against her collar and her laughing into the air. She opened her eyes, looking for where to put her hand so she could actually stand up this time, and her eyes met surprised blue ones--

Sour Cream.

He stood in the corner alone, waiting for the two of them to return, and she had caught his eye as he surveyed the crowd for them. He tried to look away, to be distracted by someone dancing and take a casual sip of his beer, but the damage was done. Jenny wasn't laughing suddenly, very aware of a new tightness in her chest. She tapped Buck's shoulders, drawing him back to the world, and the two stood and made their way back over to Sour Cream.

She didn't remember the kiss the next day, or the way she felt looking at Sour Cream, and they continued not to speak about the kisses that everyone else knew they shared. But after that night, even though she couldn't put her finger on it, something felt like it was different between them. 

 

Buck began to wonder why Sour Cream gravitated away at parties. It felt like he was always drifting toward a wall or snack table, sometimes slipping away from them and outside. When Buck would offer a questioning look across the widening crowd of people or air between them, Sour Cream would smile and wave him off, as if it just made sense that he was wandering away.

It didn't sit well with Buck. When Sour Cream wandered, he would often follow. One day at a rave, over thumping music and flashing lights Buck caught Sour Cream scooting backward, attempting to back out of the crowd, and Buck couldn't stop himself from reaching out to grab his wrist. Sour Cream seemed almost shocked by the touch. 

Buck released his arm as quickly as he had reached out for it. Sour Cream's flinch scared him. He wasn't sure what he had done to deserve it, but the guilt coloring Sour Cream’s face in the strobe light was reflected in Buck’s chest.

Before he could ask, a commotion by the snack table drew their attention. Jenny was yelling at some poor kid who had made the mistake of spilling his drink on her. The boys rushed to her aid, or perhaps his, and pulled Jenny away. Buck apologized quickly to the genuinely concerned fellow and they slipped out the back. Sour Cream held Jenny to him tightly enough that she just had to stumble along on her tiptoes as they retreated to the Pizza mobile.

Jenny was pulling on Sour Cream, not trying to fight so much as she was trying to lay down and sleep in mid air. Buck sidled over to help hold her up while Sour Cream fiddled with the keys to the car. The two met eyes and shared a quick exchange, one that started with a concerned look from Sour Cream and was met with a small chuckle from Buck, who elbowed him awkwardly. In turn he snorted, trying to hold back a laugh at Buck’s goofy, disarming grin.

Party Jenny picked up on the laugh immediately and caught it like a cold, laughing to herself at a joke she didn't know. With newfound vigor she leaned up, wrapped her arms around Sour Cream's neck, and pulled him in for a kiss.

Sour Cream had to catch himself on the car to keep from being pulled down. His other arm came up, grabbing for something to catch himself on, and found Buck's shirt. Buck was pulled into them, catching himself awkwardly on both the car and Sour Cream's hip.

Time didn't freeze so much as collapse. Jenny was so warm under him; she pressed her lips against him the way he had watched her kiss Buck and it felt wrong, it felt like it wasn't for him. He couldn't keep his eyes from darting to his friend, pulled into the mix and now trapped only inches away, and what he found in Buck's eyes was... hard to read. There was definite surprise. His smile had dropped and his cheeks were colored anew, but he wasn't frowning and he had yet to notice Sour Cream's glance because he was too busy staring at their lips. As Jenny's hands slid into Sour Cream's hair, he saw a little intake, like a gasp, as Buck's chest puffed up. The fingers at his hip tensed and Sour Cream's head was spinning, and he forced Jenny away from him as much he could without dropping her.

There was a small gasp of air, and then Jenny was laughing again, but Sour Cream didn't find it funny anymore. He detangled her arms from his neck and pushed her onto Buck so that he could open the backseat door.

"Uhh?"

His neck might have snapped from the speed with which Sour Cream whipped his head around. Sadie stood a few yards away, hands stuffed into her pockets and frozen mid step as she watched the three of them. The corners of her mouth tugged upward, but her eyes remained skeptical. "Is Jenny okay?"

Buck released Jenny and raised his arms in celebration. "Small donut girl!"

Sadie raised a hand in response, smiling weakly as Buck scrambled to catch Jenny before she crumbled. Sour Cream shook himself loose from his thoughts as he finally realized Sadie had asked a question.

"She's just a little drunk. Er. Than usual." He glanced back at Jenny, who was sliding down Buck as he tried awkwardly to catch her under her arms. Sour Cream gestured his keys at Sadie.  
"Were you at the rave?"

"Aha, yeah, I uh, I don't do this kind of thing much.." Sadie trailed off, rubbing her the leather arm of her jacket. "Lars invited me but he's.. I mean, I'm leaving now." Her cheeks pinked, but when she noticed the keys her expression changed to concern. "Were you planning on driving?"

Sour Cream looked from her to the keys and back before his cheeks pinked as well. "I, well. Jenny usually drives, but.. I thought we might just sleep it off in the car.."

"Let me drive you."

Buck, who had been awkwardly trying to stuff Jenny in the back seat, stuck a celebratory fist out the door. "Donut giiirl!"

In the car behind him, Jenny's hands went up as well. "Donutieee!"

Sour Cream's eyes widened. "Are you sure?" Sour Cream asked, but he had already stepped back from the car door. He had only just realized his ears were ringing, now away from the thumping music inside.

Sadie laughed a little, face still red. "Well, I don’t drink and you guys don't seem in any state to drive." She curled her fingers toward the keys, and Sour Cream tossed them eagerly as he slumped around the front of the car. "Where are we going?"

Sour Cream sank into the passenger seat as Sadie climbed in on the driver's side. A shudder ran through him at the feel of cold leather through his orange tripps.

"My house, I guess," he said. Jenny was giggling in the back, swatting at Buck as he tried to buckle her in.

"Cool, yeah. That’s on the beach, right? Near Funland?" Sadie said, fiddling with the keys and adjusting her seat drastically before finally starting the car.

"Yeah, man, I'll guide you," Sour Cream mumbled. He tried and failed to ignore the fingers that tangled in his hair. They pulled away as Buck tried to settle Jenny down.

Sadie drove them quietly across town, humming along to the radio while Jenny giggled in the back seat. Eventually it fell quiet, and Sour Cream turned to find Jenny curled up asleep in Buck’s lap. Buck offered a thumbs up of success and tilted his head back in exaggerated exhaustion. Sour Cream couldn’t help a chuckle, despite the way his chest tightened at the sight of them.

Sadie pulled up by the sidewalk and parked almost 5 minutes later. She re-adjusted her seat, letting it slide backward a few notches after she had scooted it up so far to reach the pedals. Sour cream jumped over the door and met her around the front of the car. 

“Thank you, for real,” He said, and gestured toward the house. “You’re free to stay the night. It’s pretty late to be walking home.”

Sadie laughed nervously and tossed the keys for him to catch. “I don’t live far from here, it’s fine.” The back door opened and drew her attention, and she smiled sympathetically. “I hope she feels okay tomorrow.”

“She bounces back quick,” Buck said as he climbed out of the car with Jenny draped over his shoulders. “Very little puking.”

Sadie’s nose scrunched up but she laughed and waved softly as she turned and started down the street. As Sour Cream watched her leave- She’s too cool for us, he thought- he remembered abruptly how tired he was. And everything that had lead up to his exhaustion. His cheeks pinked again just in time for Buck to struggle over to him with Jenny and lean her against him.

“Alright,” Buck said with a huff. “Let’s get her tucked in.”

Sour Cream put an arm under her, finding Buck’s arm there already, and the two carried her in shoulder to shoulder. Sour Cream could feel Buck’s side against his knuckles- this was something they’d done plenty of times before, but he was been so aware of Buck’s body heat. Maybe he was just a little less sober than he had thought.

Sour Cream struggled for his own keys and let the three of them in. They kicked their shoes off at the door, except for Jenny, who had managed to pass out before they had made it home. It took some math, to carry her up the stairs the way they did. It ended up being a crab-like sideways shuffle, Buck first to even out the height difference, which worked better than Sour Cream had expected. Buck nudged Sour Cream’s bedroom door open with his foot and shimmied in, careful to angle Jenny’s slack head away from the door as he went. Sour Cream carefully kicked the door shut behind them out of habit. It wasn’t like his mom would get onto him anyway.

“Jen,” Buck said. He was starting to sound as tired as Sour Cream felt. Buck shouldered Jenny, jostling her. “Jenny, you in there?”

Jenny smacked her lips loudly and pulled away from Buck, turning to Sour Cream and latching her other arm around his neck. Sour Cream looked at Buck, suddenly bristling, but Buck was smiling warmly. He shrugged.

“I guess we should just put her to bed?” He said.

Jenny nuzzled into his neck, which was sufficiently distracting, so Sour Cream just nodded, hands now on her waist. He penguin-walked them over to the bed and leaned forward to drop her on the lumpy comforter. Instead she latched on tighter, and before he could stop it, he tumbled to the bed with her, catching himself on his arms just shy of cracking her skull with his own.

Her eyes fluttered open, still half lidded, and she smirked devilishly up at Sour Cream. “You here for the party?” She asked, batting her eyelashes and pulling on his neck.

He thought his heart was going to break out of his ribcage as she pulled him down and slammed her lips against his for the second time tonight. She arched up against him, pulling herself off the bed with a newfound strength he had thought the alcohol had robbed her of. Suddenly he was holding both of them up to keep from crushing her, and her kiss was open and inviting, and he was way dizzier from this than he had been from his earlier drinks. He tried to say her name against her mouth but all he did was open up for her to deepen the kiss, which she did without a second thought, and he heard something between a sigh and a gasp fall from his own mouth before it was smothered in her kiss. It wasn’t something he didn’t want, and that made fighting it twice as hard. It was almost confusing, trying to convince himself to push her away instead of pulling her closer. His head was spinning and he remembered the bathroom and the beach and the parties, watching her kiss Buck when she thought no one was looking. He wondered if Buck could taste the booze more than her lip gloss, or if they were both drunk every time. He pressed a knee into the bed, trying to push himself up and away from her, but she sat up willingly to continue pressing forward.

Maybe it was the fact that they were on a bed, or the way her hand roamed to the hem of his jacket and creeped underneath, how she palmed at his bare hip, but he managed a burst of bravery and pushed her off with a shove, which he regret immediately. Despite his guilt, Jenny rolled over giggling, wrapping her arms around a lump in the blanket below her, curling up around it and nuzzling in.

“My silly mean boys,” She mumbled. “No one wants to kiss me anymore.”

“Probably the wrongest she’s ever been about something,” Sour Cream heard. He looked up. Buck had immediately covered his mouth after the drunk thought slipped out. He was significantly more flushed than he had been moments before. Sour Cream was torn between apologizing for the kiss and his thoughts of Buck’s lips, or of watching the two of them kiss and how agonizing and lonely that felt, but also how good agony could feel. He scratched absentmindedly at his arm.

Jenny, however, hadn’t heard him, and was back in her gentle drunken sleep, snoring into the comforter. Sour Cream’s headache was back. His head felt full, but he didn’t feel sick. The butterflies made him feel empty instead, and he was vaguely aware of his stomach growling.

He turned to Buck, only to find the Mayor’s drunken son had sidled up right beside him. He was more than a little unnerved by the way Buck was squinting at him, close enough to see his eyes through the dark shades.

He was sure Buck was angry. Of course he felt betrayed. It was so clear watching them kiss that it was something they had done before, had done often, were comfortable with. Party Jenny got handsy, sure, but it didn’t make it okay for him to let her kiss him. Not anymore, knowing there was something new happening between them. Sour Cream stood perfectly still, waiting for Buck to tear him down, waiting for the inevitable disappointment and hurt he would see on his face.

Buck reached up carefully and pressed his thumb to Sour Cream’s bottom lip. Sour Cream held his breath as Buck pressed down and wiped from one corner of his lip to the other, and then pulled away a glittering, smudged finger. Buck smiled up at him lazily.

“Lip gloss,” He said.

Sour Cream opened and closed his mouth a few times, but didn’t manage any sound before Buck continued. “Are you hungry? You sound hungry.”

“I uh…” Sour Cream started. Buck’s gentle demeanor was no different than usual. There was, as always, not an ounce of ill-will in his expression or words or body language. Faced with nothing else, Sour Cream said the only thing that came to mind. “I could eat.”

Buck smiled and brushed past him to the door, opened it, and waved a sweeping arm to invite Sour Cream out of his own bedroom. After a moment of faltering, the anxiety of indecision won out and Sour Cream tiptoed out the door, acutely aware of Jenny’s gentle snoring behind them. Buck pulled the door gently shut behind them.

They passed Onion’s room to head back down the stairs. Sour Cream knew he was awake. He didn’t really sleep, but they tiptoed anyway, just to keep from disturbing him. Sometimes Onion would poke his head out when Sour Cream got home late, watch him make his way from the front door up the stairs, and then disappear again after a moment of comfortable (yet still eerie) eye contact. Sour Cream knew his little brother enough to know it was affection. Tonight he stayed tucked away, the way he often did when Buck and Jenny were involved.

At the end of the hall was Vidalia and Yellowtail’s room, with one occupant only tonight. Yellowtail’s trips got extended all the time. He knew his mom didn’t mind-- she had always done things on her own. And if Sour Cream was lucky, he thought as he calculated his steps down to the first floor, she wouldn’t wake up and come down to the kitchen to scold him on her own.

At the end of their stealth mission, they reached the kitchen, quiet except for the muffled lapping of waves on the beach outside. He always wondered how loud it actually was, and how deaf he had become to it growing up by the sea. The warmth on his elbow, he realized, was Buck’s hand, laid gently on him to get his attention. In the dark, pitch black shades turned up toward him and Buck pointed at the fridge and then made a surprisingly accurate sandwich gesture with his hands. Sour Cream shrugged and nodded.

The two set to work, Sour Cream going to the cabinets for bread and Buck looting through the fridge for way more ingredients than Sour Cream deemed necessary. He came back to the counter with ham, turkey, lettuce, six slices of cheese, pickles, a whole raw onion, and five different condiments from the fridge door. He brushed right up against Sour Cream as he carefully settled the condiments on the counter, and then pressed in front of him and leaned across for the silverware drawer. Sour Cream backed up as much as he could in the small kitchen, but couldn’t go far without hitting the table, so instead he tried to convince himself that he was overthinking things.

Sour Cream grabbed some paper plates off the microwave and passed one to Buck, who took in and offered him three slices of cheese in exchange. They went to work on their sandwiches, handing ingredients back and forth in the dark, their workspace lit only by the still open fridge and the dim glow of the moon’s reflection on the water. Buck wordlessly took Sour Cream’s bread and spread mustard on one slice, then mayo on the other, just the way Sour Cream would do for himself. Cheese wrappers were passed to Sour Cream who dropped them in the trash can next to him, flinching when the lid dropped a little louder than he expected. Within moments, they had each built a masterpiece of meat and leaves and cheese.

Buck took Sour Cream’s plate, set it on the table and gestured for him to sit, which he did. Buck returned from the fridge for a second time with two juice boxes, and set one by Sour Cream before taking the seat across from him.

They ate in relative silence, only interrupted every once in a while by happy munching noises from Buck and the ensuing stifled chuckle from Sour Cream. It was a pleasant comedown from the madness of the past hour. A welcome change. As Sour Cream finished his juice box, Buck stood and held a hand out for his paper plate, a sleepy smile on his face. They didn’t have a whole lot of dead silence this way-- which made sense, because usually they were eating during the day, or down in the kitchen when no one was home-- but something about it was very captivating. It felt like they were already asleep, just coexisting and sharing a weird sandwich dream.

Upon finishing their juice boxes, the two boys stood quietly pushed in their chairs. He thought that they would just turn in, a little drunk and newly full, but when he turned to Buck to point upstairs, he found the hispanic boy holding up a toothbrush. Oh, right. Juice was sugary. Sour Cream hadn’t even thought about brushing his teeth, but they were right by the bathroom, after all. He shrugged, and this time he bowed with a sweeping arm to let Buck pass into the bathroom. Buck touched his chest with fluttering fingers, mock flattery in his body language. He passed Sour Cream and brushed his cheek in thanks, carrying the joke on, and Sour Cream couldn’t think of where to go with it from there, distracted by the feeling of new warmth against his skin.

They crowded into the bathroom, the one that no longer smelled like blood, and turned the sink on a drip. They dared to flip on the light, now in the safety of the contained room away from the hall upstairs. Sour Cream stood easily a head above Buck, and opted to stand behind him so as to not block the sink.

It was a little mesmerizing, watching Buck brush his teeth drunk. He would stop at random points and take the toothbrush out of his mouth stretch his jaw, and then resume brushing with the same droopy eyes. Sour Cream could feel himself watching all the little movements too hard, but was too exhausted to stop himself. He only finally stopped when Buck caught his eye and winked.

Sour Cream finished brushing first, and left the bathroom to wait by the stairs. Buck lagged behind an extra couple of minutes, but soon flipped the light off and followed Sour Cream out, grabbing his hand when he passed and leading him up the stairs. Sour Cream gave an experimental wiggle of his fingers, now laced with Buck’s, and watched the point of contact as he trailed up the stairs after him.

Buck had very obviously been more affectionate since the incident, drunk or otherwise. He knew that already- forehead kisses had been a wildly new addition to their interactions, and one he still, after three or four of them, didn’t know how to react to. This was just one of those little things, he told himself. Just a way they had grown closer. Dudes could hold hands, right?

Especially dudes like Buck. It was so infallibly him. Sour Cream tried to think of any gentle action that was out of place for Buck. Nothing jumped to mind.

Buck pushed the door open, pulling Sour Cream up behind him so that he could peek into the room over top of him before they opened it all the way. Jenny had rolled to one side of the bed, successfully tangling herself in the covers. Buck pushed the door open the rest of the way and the two of them slipped back inside. It was only a little startling when Buck kicked off the light, leaving them in only the glow of the moon’s reflection.

“You want the middle?” Buck asked as he stumbled around an overturned hamper.

“What?”

Buck peeled off his collared shirt to the thin t-shirt underneath. He was smirking at Sour Cream, his shades catching a gleam. “Jenny’s on the edge so it’s you and me, man. You want the middle or the edge?”

“I uh,” Sour Cream turned around. Something about watching Buck unbutton his jeans was suddenly new and foreign, and felt more than a little indecent with the warmth in his stomach. Sour Cream went to work unzipping his jacket as he faced the empty corner. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, wishing it were true but unable to avoid the mental image of waking up between them.

“Cool,” Buck said. “You take the middle. I get too hot.”

“Are-” Sour Cream glanced at Jenny, equally as tangled around the comforter as it was around her, and then back to Buck, trying to keep the guilt from reaching his face. “Are you sure?”

Buck gave him a questioning look. Sour Cream shrugged.

“I mean,” he rebounded, unzipping his own jacket for something to do with his hands. “I mean if that’s what you want. I just didn’t want to-”

Buck had crossed the floor and crowded in to his space. Did he always move so quietly? Wasn’t he usually a bit more clumsy when he was drunk? Buck was looking up into his face from practically in his arms. “Want to what?”

Want, Sour Cream thought, suddenly distracted, aware of the little bit of shine on Buck’s lips and how nicely his flushed cheeks contrasted his hazel eyes. His mind lagged, barely aware that Buck had pushed his jacket back on his shoulders to help him remove it. He kept trying to hold onto his train of thought, but suddenly Buck was moving someway, smiling sleepily, then pushing him toward the bed. 

It hurt too much still, he realized, as he tried to figure out how to apologize to Buck for Jenny kissing him, how to explain that it meant nothing, that she was drunk. Both thoughts twisted knots in his guts. He was so tired and Buck was so sweet and drunk that realistically, he mused as Buck nudged him into the bed, it wasn’t a conversation they would have to have until the following morning. And that was only if Buck remembered.

Fingers found his and he realized with more than a little surprise that he had gotten under his covers; not only that, but Buck had already climbed in after him. Buck pulled Sour Cream’s hand up to eye level, examining it with half-lidded eyes, his head sinking into the pillow. His gaze dropped down to the wrist beneath it. 

Sour Cream swallowed thickly. He was very aware of the way his heart thumped slowly in his chest, or how Buck looked down his long lashes, eyes unreadable under them, at the edges of Sour Cream’s scars.

Buck sighed. It felt like permission, and Sour Cream took a breath like a drink of water, heat blooming in his face as a thumb rubbed gentle circles against the edge of his palm. Buck scooted a little closer, crowding back into Sour Cream’s space until his forehead was just under Sour Cream’s chin. This close he smelled the way a walk in the woods felt. It was dizzying and peaceful and Sour Cream couldn’t push through his desire to sleep to the anxiety on the other side.

So instead he cracked a tired smirk. “I thought you said you get too hot.” He meant to say it teasingly, but it sounded almost breathless in his own ears. Buck didn’t tease back, but instead pushed a knee against Sour Cream’s until he made a space for it to nestle between his own knees. Buck took this as a victory and tossed his other arm over Sour Cream’s waist, skin on skin, like a little furnace, Sour Cream thought.

He remembered the last time they had all been in his bed. How gorgeous Buck and Jenny looked together, pressed against each other, how peaceful. How he had wondered if maybe there was something there for him too. And the pit in his stomach only grew colder and and heavier, pressing down into the bottom of his gut. No, it told him. No, he was too many sharp angles to their soft rounds, too much angst for the soft flow of their gentle hearts. He was too likely to bleed. Suddenly he was welling up. Every inch of him tightened, pressing back against the thought, the overwhelming wave of fear that they were going to leave him behind, in the face of the truth that they were perfect for each other. 

And he was just. Him.

Behind him Jenny rolled, seeking a new thing to smother, and found her boys immediately. She grumbled, kicking the covers around until she could tunnel into them, and then she was pressed against Sour Cream’s back. She kicked and nudged and whined in her half-asleep stupor until she managed to work her own knee under the edge of Buck’s, pressing it against the back of Sour Cream’s. He suppressed a yelp as her long nails scratched along his side lightly, scrunching up his shirt and snaking underneath it to find his ribs. He would protest, but pressed so closely between them, he was too busy and overwhelmed to thrash, both worried about tangling them further and desperate not to break what felt like a fragile balance.

Jenny smushed her cheek against his shoulder blade, smacking her lips. Buck snorted, drawing Sour Cream’s attention back to the boy tucked under his chin. He imitated the motion, pressing his face against Sour Cream’s collarbone and giving an exaggerated yawn in the dark.

“Good night, Wonderbread,” he mumbled softly, and shifted his shoulder before his breath immediately slowed to an even hum.

Sour Cream wondered how long he had been fighting sleep. He could have easily curled up with Jenny as soon as they got in, but he went down to the kitchen with Sour Cream instead. Was he even hungry? It was so quiet and comforting and he wondered now if that had been on purpose. If Buck had been thinking about the kiss too, but not of Jenny, and instead, for some reason, maybe about him.

His head gave a flutter at the thought, and as if reacting to it, the two warm bodies around him nuzzled further in. Jenny’s hand tightened at his ribs and Buck’s gave the smallest tug at his back. Sour Cream took a quiet breath and held it, closing his eyes and taking it in. 

They could talk about it another day. He could let them go another day. He squeezed Buck’s hand and let the breath go when Buck squeezed back. 

For now, this was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter started out as two chapters, and then I decided to kind of put them together into one, big... mishmash super chapter. I hope it didn't make it too clunky, but feel free to let me know what you think!
> 
> Thinking about doing a little focus piece on Buck soon. Not sure if it'll be the next chapter or not. We'll see!
> 
> Comments and reviews give me life. Feel free to drop a line. Look forward to the next one.


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